“Relax. My back is fine. Just a little sore, that’s all.”
He whispered her name, his hand cupping her cheek. His calloused palm was warm against her skin.
She met his gaze, felt the attraction sizzle like lightning between them, vital and alive and irresistible.
His arms slid around her waist and he drew her up against him.
She rested her cheek against his chest, acutely aware of his arms around her, of the smooth texture of his shirt against her skin, the way her body seemed to fit to his. They stood that way for several minutes, not moving, not speaking. There was a sudden hum as the heater came on.
He tilted her head up, his gaze moving over her face, lingering on her lips. Was he remembering the kiss they had shared, as she was? Was it making his mouth dry and his palms damp? Was his heart pounding as loudly as the thunder rattling overhead? And if he tried to kiss her, what then?
And then there was no time for thought. Trey’s fingers were on her hand, sliding slowly up her arm, curling around her shoulder to draw her closer. How was it possible for her to feel this way? One look, one touch, and her whole body came alive. Her heartbeat increased, happiness and excitement welled within her, bubbling up from the deepest part of her being. She felt like laughing, singing. Shouting for the sheer joy of it.
Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the chair and sat down.
“Amanda.”
She took a deep breath, but before she could speak, he was kissing her, his arms strong and sure around her. There was no doubt, no hesitation. He knew what she wanted better than she knew herself.
The rain, the room, everything seemed to fade away as Trey’s mouth moved over hers, never rough, never demanding, ever gentle.
She surrendered to him with a sigh, every fiber of her being caught up in the sweet fire of Trey’s lips on hers. Impossible. Magical. Heat flowed through her.
His hand slid under her sweater, encountering warm flesh, making her quiver with desire as he cupped her breast. An image of the bed only a few feet away flashed across her mind.
He murmured her name, his voice sandpaper rough with desire as he kissed her again, his tongue sliding over her lower lip in silent entreaty. Like a flower opening to the sun, she opened for him, aching, yearning. No one had ever made her feel like this before. Not her high school boyfriend. Not Rob…
Rob! An image of his face, his eyes filled with silent accusation, rose up in her mind. His ring on her finger was suddenly an unwelcome weight.
Pushing against Trey’s chest, she stood up, her breathing ragged. What was she doing here?
Trey rose to his feet in a single, fluid movement, reaching for her.
Amanda shook her head. “No. I can’t do this.”
His eyes were hot. “You were doing just fine, sweetheart.”
“No!”
“No?”
“I can’t do this. I’m engaged. To Rob.”
“You weren’t thinking about Rob a few moments ago.”
It was true and she couldn’t deny it. What did that say about her relationship with Rob? She touched the ring on her finger, turning it round and round. If she loved him, really loved him, would she have been so quick to fall into the arms of another man? A man who was, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger?
“I’d better go,” she said hoarsely, and ran out of the room.
For a moment, she stood outside in the rain, letting it cool her heated cheeks. What had she done? How was she going to explain it to Rob?
And how was she going to face Trey in the morning?
Chapter Eleven
Trey climbed out of bed and ran a hand through his hair. It had been a long, sleepless night. Every time he had closed his eyes, he had seen Amanda, remembered how her kisses had aroused him, how good she had felt in his arms. Angered by her abrupt departure, he had paced the floor far into the night. Hell, he could have walked back to her house with all the miles he had put on the rug.
Crossing the floor, he drew back the curtain and looked out the window. He wouldn’t have been surprised to discover she’d taken off without him, but her fancy car was still there, as sleek and beautiful as the lady herself. It had stopped raining. The sky was clear and blue, the sun shining brightly.
Damn! What was he going to do about Amanda?
Another half-hour passed before he heard her knock on the door.
There was an awkward moment of silence when he opened the door.
“Are you ready?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.
“Yeah. Just let me get my boots.”
She waited in the doorway while he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them on. Grabbing his hat, he settled it on his head, then followed her out to the car, waited while she unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel.
He ducked inside and closed the door, watched while she backed up and drove out onto the street. He wondered if she’d ever let him have a try at driving the car.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
He shrugged. “If you are.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay by me.” He swore silently, angered by the wall she had erected between them. Last night, she had been like a living flame in his arms; this morning, she was like ice. “What are you gonna do about that tree?”
She shrugged. “Hope that it’s been cleared away.”
“Cleared away by who?”
“The road maintenance people.”
“And if it hasn’t?”
“I don’t know. Go back to the motel and call for help, I guess,” she replied, her voice cool. Taking one hand from the wheel, she turned on the radio.
He grunted softly. If she didn’t want to talk, that was fine with him. He’d try to catch up on the sleep he had lost the night before.
He sat back, his hat pulled low over his eyes, listening to some gravel-voiced singer lament over a love that had gone bad. Interesting thing, radio, he thought. And television. And all the other things she had shown him. Things he had never imagined, things he would never have believed existed if he hadn’t seen them with his own eyes. Her car, for instance. It was comfortable. It was fast. But the car was just a machine, cold, unfeeling. Give him a good horse any day. Like Relámpago.
He sat up, pushing his hat back, as the car came to a stop. “Something wrong?”
“No. I need to go to the store. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
She exited the car. He watched her walk across the blacktop toward Tom’s Market; a moment later, he followed her.
It was kind of like a general store, he thought. Looking around, he spotted Amanda pushing some sort of cart down the aisle. She didn’t look happy to see him when he fell into step beside her.
He studied the boxes stacked on the shelves that lined both sides of the aisle. Cocoa Puffs. Rice Krispies. Count Chocula. Mini-Wheats. He shook his head. “What is this stuff?”
“Cereal.” She picked a box of Rice Krispies off the shelf and tossed it in the cart.
The next aisle held shelf after shelf of bread. Old-fashioned Rye. Country Potato. Hawaiian. Homestyle White. Country Wheat. Wheat Berry. Wheat and Honey. He shook his head. He’d always thought bread was bread. He picked up two loaves. One was whole; one was sliced. He shook his head again. Seemed people in this day and age didn’t even have to slice their own bread unless they had a mind to.
Amanda dropped a loaf of wheat bread into the card.
They walked down an aisle of canned goods and bottles of fruit juice, an aisle filled with various kinds of paper goods, an aisle filled with candy and cookies, nuts, coffee and cocoa, marshmallows and pudding.
The next aisle held frozen foods. Trey stood there wide-eyed. There was a long double-row of glass fronted cupboards, some of the glass looking kind of frosty. The temperature along the aisle was colder than the rest of the store. Amanda opened one of the doors, and a puff of cold air touched his skin. She pulled a carton of chocolate ice cream off the shelf and closed the door. It
closed with authority, like a bank vault.
A little further on, she selected several packages of vegetables. Trey picked one up, feeling the chill sink into his fingers. The package said frozen, and it was as cold and hard as a block of ice. He marveled that it was possible to keep food frozen when there was no ice in sight.
“It works like my refrigerator back home,” Amanda explained, seeing his puzzled look.
He nodded. Electricity, again.
Perhaps most remarkable of all was the meat section. He stared at package after package of meat. Steaks, pork chops, chicken, and all kinds of fish and what was labeled as sea food. They were a long way from any ocean, and he read the labels and signs with interest: crab, shrimp, shark, albacore. At least he recognized the ice. A sign over a large tank read, “Fresh lobster.” In another case, there were whole turkeys and whole chickens, neatly cleaned and plucked, and cans that said they had smoked hams inside them. Smoked ham he knew, and his mouth watered at the thought.
Amanda put some slabs of steak, red and heavily marbled, into her cart. They were in individual packages, wrapped in transparent coverings. The pork chops and the whole chicken she selected were packaged the same way.
The last stop was the dairy section. He read the cartons. Buttermilk. Whole milk. Low fat milk. Nonfat milk. Butter was in this section, as well as items he had never heard of: margarine, cottage cheese, yogurt.
“Unbelievable,” Trey muttered. Didn’t anyone milk their own cows anymore?
He followed her to the check out counter, watched in awe as the clerk added up her purchases. She paid with her credit card, a young boy put the groceries in some kind of bag, then placed them in her cart.
“I’ll do that,” Trey said when Amanda started to push the cart toward the door.
“I can do it,” she retorted.
He didn’t argue, just put his hands over hers. She relented without a word and led the way out to the car.
Amanda unlocked the truck and Trey put the bags inside. She watched with obvious disapproval when he reached for his gun.
A few minutes later, they were on the road again.
Knowing the weapon made her uneasy, Trey slid it under his seat.
“Where does all the food in the store come from?” he asked.
“Farmers, ranchers. I think most of it is brought in by truck.”
“Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. Don't people grow their own food anymore?”
“Not many. Farming and agriculture is a huge business.”
With a shake of his head, he settled back in his seat.
She slowed the car as they reached the curve in the road. The tree had been dragged away. Two men clad in strange hats and bright orange overalls waved as they drove past.
Amanda waved back.
A short time later, she pulled up in front of her house.
Trey unfastened his seat belt and slid out of the car. He helped Amanda carry the groceries into the house, then headed for the barn.
Relámpago let out a shrill whinny as Trey opened the door and stepped inside.
“Hi, fella,” Trey said, scratching the horse’s ears. “Bet you thought I was never coming back.”
The stud tossed his head, then shoved his nose against Trey’s arm.
“Coming up,” Trey said, and scrambling up the ladder, he dropped two flakes of hay into the horse’s feeder.
He was filling the stud’s water barrel when Amanda entered the barn.
“Is he all right? I feel awful,” she remarked. “Leaving him locked up in here for so long.”
“He’s been through worse,” Trey replied with a shrug. “I’ll turn him out later.”
“Whatever,” she said, and left the barn.
Trey stared after her. Damn! What the hell was “whatever” supposed to mean?
Filled with a sudden restless energy, Trey grabbed a shovel. Opening the stall door, he began shoveling manure into a wheelbarrow.
When he was finished, he dumped the wheelbarrow out behind the barn and spread it around with a rake. He stood there for a moment, gazing into the distance, one arm propped on the tip of the handle. He grunted softly, wondering, for the first time, what the posse had thought when he vanished without a trace. He thought about his grandfather. He had promised Walker on the Wind he would return home when he had avenged Louis’ death. But Hollinger still lived. And now he was here, in the far distant future, with no idea how to get back where he belonged. And then there was Amanda…Amanda, with her silky red hair, luminous green eyes, and a body that he couldn’t stop thinking about. Damn, but she had felt good in his arms! Women had never been a problem for him. He didn’t know why they were drawn to him, but they were. Maybe it was his love ‘em and leave ‘em attitude. He knew some women saw it as a challenge of some kind and longed to prove he couldn’t live without them. Maybe it was his Apache blood that made him attractive, the lure of the forbidden, the dangerous, the unknown.
He laughed out loud. Damn, she must be driving him crazy for him to be having thoughts like that. The long and the short of it was, he liked women and they liked him. And Amanda had been no different until she suddenly remembered she was engaged. What kind of man was… What was his name? Rob?
Muttering an oath, he took the wheelbarrow and the rake back to the barn. Removing his hat, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Settling his hat back on his head, he opened the door to the stallion’s stall, and went outside. Relámpago trailed after him like a puppy. He put the stud in the corral, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and went up to the house.
He found Amanda in the kitchen, laying out enough grub to feed the Seventh Cavalry. Bacon and eggs. Waffles. Sausage. Fried potatoes. Something called cantaloupe. Orange juice. Coffee.
“You expecting company?” he asked drily.
“Just sit down and eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Removing his hat, he tossed it on the counter.
She was a good cook, and he was hungry now. So was she. Between them, they finished up everything except the potatoes and half a sausage. All in silence so thick he could have cut it with a knife.
As soon as she finished eating, she stood up and began to clear the table. He sat back in his chair, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands, and watched her. She was angry. It was obvious in every taut line of her body, every movement, as she rinsed the dishes and shoved them in the dishwasher, then filled the sink with water and began to wash the frying pans.
She gave a little cry of dismay as she reached into the sink. Pulling her hand from the water, she stared at the blood filling her palm.
Trey was on his feet in an instant. Setting his cup on the table, he snatched the towel from the back of a chair and wrapped it tightly around her hand. “What happened?”
“I must have cut it on a knife. I’m all right.” She tried to pull her hand from his.
“Yeah, you look all right. You look like you’re gonna faint.”
“I feel that way, too,” she murmured, swaying against him.
He sat down, drawing her down on his lap. “Let me take a look at it.”
She glanced away while he studied the cut in her hand. It was long, but not too deep.
“How’d you ever manage to cut a bullet out of me?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t mind the sight of blood,” she said weakly, “as long as it’s not mine.”
He laughed at that as he wrapped the cloth around her hand again. Rising, he sat her down in his chair. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Amanda stared after him. He was a rogue, she thought, with a killer smile and a laugh that made her insides curl. He was a stranger, a man from another time, and he made her feel more alive, more feminine, than any man she had ever known. How dull her life had been without him! Though she hated to admit it, she knew she would miss him terribly if he was suddenly zapped back to his own time.
He returned a few minutes later carrying the roll of gauze, tape, and the bottle of disinfectant she had left on
his bedside table, along with a wet wash rag.
She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I know what I’m doing.”
Kneeling in front of her, he unwrapped the towel from her hand and spread it on her lap. Then, very gently, he washed her palm and coated it with disinfectant. Next, he wound several layers of gauze around her hand, and then taped it in place.
She checked the bandage. “You do know what you’re doing,” she allowed.
Still on his knees, he looked up at her. “Why’d you run away last night? What were you afraid of?”
On the way home, she had vowed to put some distance between them but now, gazing deep into his eyes, it was all she could do to keep from running her fingers through his hair, to keep from bending down and pressing her lips to his.
“Amanda?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I wasn’t afraid.”
“No?”
“No. Ohmigosh, look at the time!” she exclaimed, and jumped to her feet.
“What the…where the devil are you going?”
“I’ve got to go…go…wash my hair,” she said, and hurried out of the room and up the stairs.
Trey stared after her. Wash her hair? Not likely!
* * * * *
Amanda hid out in her room the rest of the afternoon. It was a cowardly thing to do, and she knew it. What was worse, she knew he knew exactly what she was doing, and why. But she couldn’t help it. Every time he looked at her, she melted like ice cream on a summer day. Never before had a man affected her so strongly. Why had he come along now, when she was engaged to someone else?
She looked at the picture of Rob she kept on her dresser. Had his eyes always been that close together, his nose that sharp, his lips that thin? She thought of Trey’s full lower lip, remembered the touch of it, the taste of it.
“Stop it!” she muttered. “You love Rob, and he loves you.”
But did she, really? How could she truly be in love with Rob if another man attracted her so? She’d hardly spared Rob a thought since Trey’s mysterious appearance. Of course, she could make excuses for that. Trey had been hurt. She had been naturally curious about who he was and where he came from. She had been worried about him, afraid he might die.
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