She was already there, craning to see over, calling the dog. “Buster! Buster, here, boy!”
He went to her, grabbed her arm and hauled her back a few feet. She tried to shake him off, but he held on. “Don’t,” he warned. “It could be dangerous.”
“But Buster...” Frantic tears clogged her voice.
He shone the light on the ground at the edge he’d dragged her back from. Hard to tell, but it looked pretty solid. “Careful, okay?” Reluctantly, he let her go. “Just take it easy...slow.”
Together they moved toward the cliff again. He shone the flashlight down into the darkness, spotted the small ledge created by two joined sets of tree roots maybe thirty feet down. Buster was young and agile. All he would have needed was something to break his fall and chances were he would have been okay.
No sign of him on that ledge, though.
“Buster!” Willa called again, more frantic than before. “Buster!”
Not knowing what else to do, Collin put his fingers between his teeth and let out with the whistle that always brought the dogs running. He glanced over at Willa, at the tears already streaming down her soft cheeks.
He was just about to start blaming himself, when he heard the scrabbling sounds over the side, up the road a little, near where he’d stopped the truck.
Willa whipped around toward the noise. “Buster!” Collin turned the light on her, so she wouldn’t trip on the uneven road surface as she took off again in the direction of the sounds.
About then, the white dog scrambled up over the bank, apparently unhurt. He got to the road and shook himself.
“Buster!” Willa dropped to a crouch and threw her arms around him. The dog whined and swiped his sloppy tongue all over her face and wagged his tail as though he’d just done something pretty spectacular.
And maybe he had.
Collin went to them. With another happy cry, Willa jumped up and threw her arms around him. “He’s fine. He’s okay. Oh, thank God.” She buried her face against his neck.
He held her close and tried not to let himself think about how right she always felt in his arms.
* * *
Buster rode the last short stretch inside the cab, sandwiched between Willa’s feet.
Collin didn’t much care for dogs in the front. But he wasn’t complaining. A couple of minutes after they’d piled in the truck again, Collin parked in the flat space not far from the front door to his house.
“We made it,” Willa said softly. “I can hardly believe it.”
He reached over and grabbed his bag out from under Buster’s big feet. “I’m starving. Let’s scare up something to eat.”
Inside, he got Libby’s bowl down from a cupboard and filled it with kibble leftover from last winter. Buster went right to work on the food.
Willa stood holding her black plastic bag, her pack slung on one shoulder, staring out the wall of windows that faced the valley. With the lamps on and the antler chandelier overhead casting its warm glow, there was nothing to see but her reflection in the glass. “This is so beautiful, Collin.”
He left the open kitchen area and went to stand beside her. “Pretty dark down there tonight. Usually, even with the great room all lit up, you can see the lights of town.”
She turned to him, her eyes so soft and bright. “You’ll be seeing them again before you know it.”
He took her arm and tried not to feel too happy to have her there, in his house, alone. “Come on. I’ll show you the guest room and the spare bath.”
Her face lit up. “A shower? You mean it?”
“Right this way.”
* * *
Willa pushed her empty plate away. “Steak. A baked potato. Even a salad.” She sent him a mock glare. “And to think, if I hadn’t made you bring me along, it would have been macaroni and canned ham all over again.”
He gave her one of those grins that always made her pulse speed up. “Is that what the church ladies are serving tonight?”
“I believe so, yes.” She sat back and looked around her. The living area was all one room, with a comfy-looking sofa and chairs grouped around a rustic fireplace. He’d built a small fire that crackled cheerfully. Up on the mountain, even summer nights had a bite to them.
The galley-type kitchen had butcher-block counters, the cabinets painted a woodsy green.
She asked, “This place was your uncle’s?”
“That’s right.” He polished off his beer. “Uncle Casper was an independent old coot—and he was always good to me.”
She remembered Casper Traub. He had a handlebar mustache and he always wore a white Resistol hat. “A confirmed bachelor.”
“Damn straight. Uncle Casper and I got along. We just seemed to understand each other—but I’ve made a lot of changes to the house since he passed. This area had a wall down the middle before, the kitchen separate from the living room. I like it open. And I had bigger windows put in to take advantage of the view.”
“You did a great job.” She stared up at all the lights strung on the antler chandelier. “It’s comfortable and homey. Inviting, but not cluttered.”
“That’s good.” He gestured with his empty beer bottle. “It’s pretty much what I was going for.”
“You got it right.”
He was watching her. “But not what you expected.” It wasn’t a question.
She confessed, “Not really. I was thinking you would have more of a woodsy man-cave, to tell the truth.”
Twin creases formed between his brows. “It’s not a woodsy man-cave?”
“Collin. You can’t have a man-cave with all those windows. With a man-cave, there would be stacks of girlie magazines. And the decor would focus on empty liquor bottles lining the walls.”
He pretended to look wounded. “You’re serious. You see me saving empty liquor bottles to use for decoration, surrounded by girlie magazines....”
“Oh, come on. You know I’m just kidding.”
He shrugged and pointed the beer bottle at the big-screen TV. “Well, I’ve got the right TV anyway. And I get cable up here now, believe it or not—or I do when the cable service isn’t down. Even my cell phone works most of the time.” He grinned that wicked grin of his. “Admit it. You’re impressed.”
“Bowled over.” She took a small sip of the beer he’d given her. “You miss your uncle?”
He gave her a slow nod. “Every day. He taught me all I know about the business and he left it to me with the house when we lost him. My shop’s in the basement.”
“You make the saddles now?”
He sent her a wounded glance. “Who would if I didn’t? You think I keep a bunch of elves down there?”
“Of course not.” But she was surprised. She’d known that Casper Traub had left everything to his favorite nephew, but somehow she hadn’t really thought about what exactly that would mean—and that made her feel a little ashamed. The past few years, she’d been so busy judging him, she’d never stopped to think about who he was as a person, how he might have changed and grown from the wild, rude boy who used to spy on her out in the back pasture.
He got up, got a second beer from the fridge and twisted the top off. “You want one?”
She still had half of hers. “I’m good.”
He came back to her and dropped into his chair again. “What? You’re having trouble believing that I work for a living?” He took a drink, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down in his strong brown throat. “You have one of my saddles in the tack room of your dad’s barn.”
Yet another surprise. “My dad’s precious CT Saddle? You made it?”
“I did.”
“But he got that saddle three years ago.”
“I’ve been making saddles since before high school. Uncle Casper had me working with him as soon as I was tall enou
gh to stand at a workbench.”
“Oh. I...didn’t know.”
He grunted and shook his head. And she felt really bad. He seemed to sense her distress, and leaned across the table toward her. “What’d I do? Willa, come on. You look like you’re about to cry.”
She waved a hand. And then she sighed. “You didn’t do anything. Honestly. It’s only that I’m disappointed in myself, I guess.”
“Why?” He asked it so quietly. Like he didn’t want to push her, but he really did want an answer.
She gave him the truth. “We live in a very small town, where everyone knows everything about everyone else. Yet, I didn’t know you made the most beautiful saddles in Montana. I didn’t know much at all about you. In high school, I never wanted anyone to know that I was...” Her throat clutched. She gulped to loosen it. “Um, attracted to you. So I made real sure that I acted like I couldn’t care less whenever anyone mentioned your name. That meant I never learned anything about you—about who you really are. Except that everyone said half the girls had been with you and the other half wished they might.”
“Willa...” His voice was husky and his eyes were so soft.
She suddenly felt all warm and quivery inside and she had to force herself to say the rest. “And then, well, after that night at the Ace in the Hole, I was just so...bitter. So angry at you. And that meant I kept on not letting myself know anything about you, kept on judging you without even knowing you. It was all just so narrow-minded and, well, small of me, you know? And I like to think of myself as an open-minded and fair person. But maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m already just an old busybody, listening to rumors, believing the worst about people. Never stopping to find out what’s really going on.”
“You’re too young to be an old busybody.”
She wanted to smile—but he was letting her off too easy. “Don’t be nice to me about this. I don’t deserve it.”
He set down his beer, got up and came around the table to her, dropping to a crouch beside her chair. “Hey.” He took her hand. Heat flowed up her arm, into her heart. And lower down, too. “And I have to tell you, I kind of got a kick out of you avoiding me for four years.”
She groaned. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, yeah. You were so determined. I’d walk in a room—and out you went through the other door.”
“But still. Be honest. It did hurt your feelings a little, didn’t it?”
“I survived.”
She looked down at their joined hands and then back up into those beautiful deep-set eyes of his. “So you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He seemed so earnest right then, his face tipped up to her, that lock of hair falling over his forehead the way it always seemed to do.
She couldn’t stop herself—she didn’t want to stop herself. She dared to smooth it back. It was just as she’d always imagined it might be—thick and warm and so very silky, a little bit damp from his recent shower. “I don’t know what I would have done in these past few days without you.”
“You would have been fine.”
She grew bolder. She pressed her palm to his cheek. It was smooth, freshly shaved. “I would have drowned that first day. You know it as well as I do.”
“Uh-uh. You’re too ornery to drown.”
“You think so?”
“Oh, yeah. You would have gotten that door open and made it to safety.” His voice was rough and tender, both at once.
Her breath caught in her throat. A kiss, she thought.
What could a kiss hurt?
Just one. No harm in that.
His gaze seemed to burn her and his sensual mouth was slightly parted. He smelled so good, clean and fresh and manly.
“Oh, Collin...” She dared to bend closer—and then blinked in surprise when he caught her wrist and gently guided her hand away from his face.
He swept to his feet, grabbed up his empty plate and the salad bowl and carried them to the sink. Without turning back to look at her, he said, “You want to watch a movie or something? I’ve got a bookcase full of DVDs.”
Her face was flaming. Talk about making a fool of herself.
What was her problem anyway? The poor guy couldn’t be nice to her without her trying to jump his bones.
She reminded herself, as she’d reminded herself about a hundred times in the past few days, that he liked her and he was her friend. But he was not interested in her in that way and she needed get that in her head and keep it there.
His friendship mattered to her. She was not going to lose him because she couldn’t stop throwing herself at him.
He still had his back to her as he rinsed out the salad bowl and then scraped off his plate in the garbage and stuck it in the dishwasher.
She picked up her plate and carried it over there.
He took it from her. “So. Movie?”
“As long as I get to choose which one.”
* * *
He did let her choose. His taste ranged from horror to Western and action/adventure to raunchy guy comedies. Not a tender romance to be found.
She chose a Jason Statham shoot-’em-up. It was fast-paced and entertaining. When it was over, she let Buster out and waited on the step for him to take care of business. Back inside, she told Collin good-night and headed for the guest room, Buster at her heels.
The bed was big and comfortable and she’d worked hard all afternoon. She should have gone right to sleep.
But, no. She kept thinking about what an idiot she’d been at the dinner table, kept wondering if she should have done something other than pretend for the rest of the evening that nothing had happened.
Then again, if not that, what? Certainly they didn’t have to discuss the fact that she regretted throwing herself at him and would try really, really hard not to do it again.
Sheesh. How pathetic. That was a conversation she just didn’t need to have.
Willa plumped her pillow and turned over. Then she turned over again. Then she sat up and pushed back all the covers but the sheet.
Then she pulled the covers back over herself again.
It was hopeless. Sleep was not in the offing. She turned on the lamp and got her book from the bag and tried to read.
But she couldn’t concentrate. The clock by the bed said ten after one.
Maybe she could find some cocoa in the kitchen. Or just some milk to heat up. Or something.
She threw back the covers. On the rug by the bed, Buster lifted his head—and then settled back to sleep with a soft doggy sigh. She yanked on a worn plaid shirt over the camisole and knit shorts she’d worn to sleep in and decided to just go barefoot. Flip-flops made too much noise anyway. She didn’t want to take the chance of disturbing Collin. At least one of them should be allowed to get a decent night’s sleep.
His bedroom was down at the far end of the hall. The door was open, but there was no light on in there.
Not that it mattered. She had no intention of bothering him. Willa went the other way, out to the great room and into the kitchen.
She flicked on the light and was heading for the fridge when Collin said, “Go back to bed, Willa. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not having sex with you.”
With a cry of surprise, she whirled toward the sound of his voice. He stood over in the living area, wearing his jeans and nothing else, his strong legs planted wide apart, hands linked behind him, staring out the wall of windows on the dark town below.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or throw something at him...but wait.
On second thought, she did know. The latter. Definitely.
Okay, she’d tried to kiss him and she shouldn’t have. But he didn’t have to be mean about it. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized how sick and tired she was of hearing him say
he wouldn’t have sex with her. It had been funny, for a while—but tonight, well, it was downright hurtful.
She zipped around the island counter that separated the living area from the kitchen and marched right for him. “Oh, please. Will you give that up? I couldn’t sleep, that’s all.” She halted a few feet from him and glared at his broad back. “Nobody here is thinking about sex.”
“Speak for yourself.” Slowly, he turned and faced her. She gasped at the yearning she saw in his eyes.
Chapter Ten
Collin couldn’t take it anymore.
The sight of her, in those little purple velour shorts and that skimpy, lacy top...well, it was too much. Even if she did have on an old plaid shirt over the top. That old shirt wasn’t hiding anything. She hadn’t even bothered to button it up.
He could see her nipples very clearly, poking at him through the thin fabric, could make out the tempting, ripe curves of her breasts. She was driving him crazy, that was what she was doing. He’d held out for years, done the right thing by her, even though she’d ended up hating him for it.
But tonight, well, it was too much.
And hadn’t he known that it would be? She shouldn’t have kept after him until he brought her up here with him. She shouldn’t have tried to kiss him. Shouldn’t have come out of her room dressed in those soft purple shorts and that skimpy silky top that didn’t hide a damn thing.
He burned. He was on fire—to take her breasts in his two hands. To touch the skin of her thighs, to rub his rough palms along all that smooth softness, to inch his fingers upward, under the hem of those shorts, to touch her at last where he knew she would be hot and wet and waiting for him.
He wanted her, wanted sweet Willa Christensen, probably always had, from way back. From before he even realized what he was wanting. Oh, yeah. He wanted her.
And to hell with what was best for her. She wanted him, too. She’d made that more than clear on more than one occasion.
Tonight, he was going to give her exactly what she wanted.
Reaching out, he took her by the arms and hauled her up close to him, reveling in the feel of her body brushing along the front him, making him ache all the harder for her.
Marooned with the Maverick Page 12