Storms

by Gerri Hill

  “Yes,” she answered simply.

  The horses fidgeted, ready to run, but Carson held back, watching, waiting to see if Kerry understood what she was saying.

  Kerry finally nodded. “Okay. Then let’s go.”

  With those few words, the tension faded completely between them. Carson felt everything settle around her, freeing her, and she laughed with delight as Windstorm took off, heading into the valley.

  Kerry’s mare caught up to them as Carson reined Windstorm in, slowing their pace, easing into a slow canter and finally to an easy walk.

  “How did the valley get its name?” Kerry asked.

  “Elk Valley? Probably from the winter herds that call it home,” she said. “When the snows hit, the elk leave the high country, wintering down here. The valley is full of them. They start heading up again in late spring,” she said. “They’re still around though. I spotted some past the lake the other day.”

  “Where are you taking me today?”

  “I thought I’d see if the old trail to the Conley ranch was still there. It’s a great ride,” she said. “It crosses two little trout streams and goes through the foothills before hitting their property.”

  “And is your family still friendly with them? You mentioned once that your father had a falling out with them.”

  “I don’t have a clue,” Carson said. “Chase never mentioned it. I’d think that Justin is running the ranch now. His father was older, already in his sixties when we were in high school.”

  She pulled Windstorm to a halt, reaching out to stop Kerry. Up the mountain a ways, four cow elk and their calves were grazing. She wished she’d thought to bring the binoculars that were hanging in the stables. She slid out of her saddle, motioning for Kerry to do the same.

  “Do you see them?” she asked quietly.

  “No. Where?”

  “Elk and calves, about halfway up the mountain,” she said. “Here.” She pulled Kerry in front of her, holding her close. “Follow my arm,” she whispered as she pointed to the spot. “Do you see them now?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my eyes are closed,” Kerry murmured.

  Carson was aware of how close they were when she felt the heat of Kerry’s body. She stood still, letting the moment happen as it may. Kerry leaned back against her, pressing their bodies together. Carson felt her breasts smashed against Kerry’s back, but she didn’t move away. It was the first true intimacy between them, and Carson let it sink in, knowing that it was Kerry who had initiated it.

  She finally lowered her arm, placing her hands at Kerry’s waist. Kerry’s hands covered hers, pulling them around her from behind and holding them tightly against her stomach. They stood that way for long moments and Carson felt Kerry’s thundering heartbeat, a rhythm that matched her own.

  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, letting the sensation of Kerry’s body being pressed to hers envelop her. Then Kerry shifted, turning so that their eyes met. In her own way, Kerry was offering herself to Carson. Carson leaned closer, wanting so badly to kiss her. But something stopped her. If they did this, if they kissed, then everything would change. There would be no going back. Despite the desire in Kerry’s eyes she still wasn’t certain Kerry understood the magnitude of this.

  So she pulled away, clearing her throat before speaking. “We should...we should get going,” she said. Then, as if needing an excuse, she looked to the sky. “Clouds are coming in. We better head back to the barn. We don’t want to get caught in the storm.”

  She climbed in the saddle and turned Windstorm back toward the ranch, thoughts of the Conley trail forgotten. She glanced behind her, seeing a confused look on Kerry’s face. She should say something, she should explain, but no words would come. They rode back, Kerry a few paces behind her, but Carson couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

  She pulled Windstorm to a stop and turned him around, riding next to Kerry and facing her. Without thinking, she leaned closer and grabbed her, kissing her hard, possessively. Her lips softened when she heard Kerry’s tiny moan and her mouth lingered for long seconds as Kerry kissed her back.

  “That’s what I want to do to you,” she said as she pulled away. “That’s just the beginning of what I want to do. That’s why I stopped earlier.”

  She turned then, kicking Windstorm into a trot, riding—and running—away from Kerry.

  She’d just taken the saddle off when Kerry rode the mare into the barn. She slid from the saddle, her eyes avoiding Carson’s. Carson didn’t offer to help with Kerry’s saddle. She thought it was safer with two horses separating them. They proceeded to brush down their mounts but again the silence was wearing on her.

  “Kerry, look, I’m sorry. I—”

  “Please don’t say it.”

  “I had no right to do that.”

  Kerry put her brush down and stood in front of Carson. “I’m not young and naive, Carson. I’m not blind to what’s happening between us. Scared, maybe, but not blind.”

  No, Carson knew she wasn’t. But she still wasn’t prepared to go there. “When I told Cody that I was too old to chase after straight women, I meant that. If you’re curious, I’m not going to be that person, Kerry. I can’t.”

  “This feeling,” Kerry said, touching her chest, “has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a woman.”

  “Of course it does,” Carson countered. “It has everything to do with it.”

  Kerry stared at her, that confusion again clouding her eyes. Finally she nodded. “You’re right. It does have everything to do with it. That’s why—”

  “That’s why you’re scared,” Carson finished for her.

  As they stood there, the confusion in Kerry’s eyes ebbed, replaced by what Carson could only call a craving—a yearning. It was a look she couldn’t resist. She knew she shouldn’t...God, she knew it...but she just couldn’t stop herself. She dropped the brush she’d been holding, reaching out, her hand tangling in Kerry’s hair, pulling her closer.

  She kissed her...not the hard, possessive kiss of earlier. No, this one was soft and tender, moving over a mouth that opened for her. She wasn’t sure if the moan she heard was hers or Kerry’s—it didn’t matter which. She felt Kerry’s body melting against her as Kerry clung to her, their bodies touching from head to toe. She deepened the kiss, parting Kerry’s lips with her tongue. Kerry moved with her, their passion flaring as their tongues brushed together.

  But of course she knew it would happen, knew Kerry would push her away. And she did, eyes wide with wonder. Kerry took a step back, away from her, the want and need in her eyes replaced with panic. She moved away, shaking her head slowly as she turned and fled.

  Carson let her go. What else could she do? It had been wrong, yes. She knew it. Kerry obviously wasn’t ready. That didn’t matter though. She couldn’t stop it from happening. Kerry had wanted their kiss as much as she had. She wasn’t going to take the blame for that.

  She picked up the brush she’d dropped, continuing to groom Windstorm, telling herself it would all work itself out. It had to. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t going through the motions with someone. For the first time, she felt her heart opening to another person. Here, at her childhood home, where the line between love and pain remained blurred, she felt a ray of hope, a glimmer of the future, and it wasn’t filled with grief and remorse for what could have been. It was filled with a promise of happiness, of completeness. It was filled with a sense of home, something she thought she’d never have again.

  She didn’t think about the way Kerry had run from her. She didn’t think about the panic she saw in Kerry’s eyes. She saw the passion, the need, the desire...she felt Kerry’s fingers digging into her arm as they kissed. She felt the promise of more to come.

  She would give Kerry all the time she needed. She had to. Because for the first time, she craved what she’d only dreamed of.

  Love.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

 
Kerry sat on her bed, watching the clock as it ticked closer and closer to seven. The dinner hour. Unlike Carson, she couldn’t just disappear and skip it. Not after what had happened earlier.

  She closed her eyes, admitting to herself that she was still reeling from their kiss. The shower hadn’t helped in the least. The kiss was everything she’d imagined it would be and so much more. That was what frightened her. Carson’s kiss turned her inside out, made her knees weak, made her cling to her for fear she’d fall. Carson’s kiss made her want so much more, made her want to tear at her clothes, made her want to beg Carson for her touch upon her skin.

  And that kiss aroused her more than she’d ever been. She had been shocked as she felt a throbbing need between her legs, shocked at the wetness there. And she was absolutely stunned to know that she was on the verge of begging Carson to touch her ...there.

  That was what made her stop, made her pull out of Carson’s arms. The realization that she was powerless to resist her, that it felt so incredibly right to press her body tight against Carson—that’s what made her stop. She’d lost control. She’d lost total control in a matter of seconds. And it scared the hell out of her, the ease at which Carson was able to render her so helpless. So she pulled away, forsaking what her body wanted, needed, and letting her mind regain some control again.

  Then she fled, her body throbbing with a new desire—a new want and need she didn’t understand. How could she be so attracted to Carson, a woman, and not feel even the tiniest of sparks for one of her handsome brothers? How did it come to this? How could her body feel so alive in Carson’s presence?

  And how could she want something so badly, something she knew absolutely nothing about? How could she want another woman this much?

  She rubbed her forehead as if warding off a headache when really all she was trying to do was to stop the direction of her thoughts. She finally stood, knowing she must go downstairs. She’d heard Carson leave her room earlier so she knew she’d be waiting. She wondered if Carson was going to want to talk. It was the last thing she wanted, but her only alternative was to run and hide.

  She heard Martha and Carson talking in the kitchen and she went in, acting as nonchalant as possible when she felt anything but that. Her nerves were raw and she nearly collapsed when Carson looked at her, when Carson’s gaze dropped ever so slightly to her lips.

  “Smells wonderful,” she said, her words sounding forced, she knew. In fact, she wasn’t even certain she smelled anything. Food was the last thing on her mind.

  “It’s a chicken casserole that the brothers would hate, but I thought you girls would enjoy it.” She ushered them toward the dining room. “I picked out a bottle of wine too. Go sit. I’ll bring dinner in.”

  Once alone, Kerry twisted her hands together, her eyes landing everywhere except on Carson. Like last night, the lighting was dim. Two candles separated them and Kerry wondered if Martha had any idea of the romantic mood she was setting.

  “Kerry...relax.”

  Her eyes flew up. “Relax?”

  “Should I apologize?”

  Should she? Kerry shook her head. “No.”

  “You can—”

  “Here we go,” Martha said as she carried in the serving tray. Two plates were steaming with a medley of chicken and pasta and vegetables. Carson stood up, taking the wine from Martha as it teetered dangerously on the tray.

  “This looks delicious, Martha,” Kerry said. Yes, it did. She had no appetite, but it certainly looked delicious.

  “Thank you, Miss Kerry. It’s an old recipe that I haven’t made in years. I hope you girls like it.”

  “I’m sure we will,” Carson said. “Thank you.”

  Martha smiled and turned to go and Kerry was certain she’d caught a twinkle in her eyes as she left them.

  Kerry picked up her fork, her gaze remaining fixed on her plate. She chanced a quick glance up but Carson, too, was staring at her food. Kerry sighed. This was ridiculous, this...this silence between them. She pushed her food around, finally taking a bite. It was excellent, yet she had to force it down. She took a sip of wine, hoping it would relax her. The sound of thunder rolled in the distance, and she assumed the late spring storm would be upon them soon.

  “Don’t be afraid of me.”

  The words were spoken quietly and Kerry looked up, meeting Carson’s eyes head on. There was a hint of regret there and she put her fork down and leaned her elbows on the table. Of all the things she wanted to see in Carson’s eyes, regret wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m not afraid of you, Carson. I’m afraid of this,” she said, motioning between them. “I’m scared to death,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be. You control everything, Kerry. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen, it’s up to you.”

  “Is it really? I seem to have no control when I’m around you,” she said with a slight smile.

  Carson nodded and her lips twitched with a smile too, but she said nothing. Kerry went back to her meal, the silence not quite as uncomfortable as before, although her appetite had not returned. Carson, too, seemed to have little interest in her food.

  “We need to clean our plates,” Kerry said. When Carson’s eyebrows shot up, she explained, “Martha will think we didn’t enjoy her cooking.”

  “And we most definitely enjoy her cooking.” Carson reached across the table and added more wine to Kerry’s glass. “What do you think she’s trying to accomplish with these candles?”

  Kerry laughed. “She does set a romantic table, doesn’t she.” A loud clap of thunder sounded, startling her. “Are the horses okay?” she asked.

  “Yes. I don’t know what the common practice is, but I left the stables open so they could go in. Except for Windstorm and your mare. I actually closed them up in their stalls.”

  “I like the mare I ride. She’s gentle.”

  “Yes, especially for being so young. She’s only three.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Ginger,” Carson said. “Such a unique name for a horse,” she added with a smirk.

  Kerry took another bite, glad the conversation had returned somewhat to normal. Perhaps she would be able to clean her plate after all. Again thunder, the lull between them getting shorter.

  “I like storms,” she said. “I like to watch the lightning.”

  “I used to go sit in the hayloft when a storm rolled in,” Carson said. “The view of the valley, with the mountains in the background, was a perfect spot to catch the lightning show.”

  “And were you alone in the hayloft?”

  Carson laughed. “Yes. I’ll have to show it to you sometime,” she said.

  Kerry knew she was teasing but still, her words sent a hot chill across her body. She was saved from replying when Martha came in.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Miss Carson, the nurse is here. She says your father is asking for you. When you finish dinner, she wanted to know if you’d come up.”

  “Okay, sure.” When Martha left, Carson let out a heavy sigh. “Just how I want to end my day,” she said.

  “Maybe it’s time,” Kerry said. “Maybe he’s ready to talk.”

  “No matter how ready we are to talk, it always ends in an argument,” Carson said. “Always.” She stood, moving the chair back against the table. She leaned on it, her eyes lingering. “Do we need to talk about it, Kerry?”

  “Will that change anything?”

  Again, Carson’s gaze dropped to her lips. “I don’t think so.”

  “Me either.”

  Carson nodded, then left, leaving Kerry alone as the candles flickered and the thunder continued to rumble.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Carson stood in her father’s doorway, noticing that the incessant coughing had stopped. For a minute she wondered if he’d died.

  “Come in,” the nurse said, getting up from her perch beside him to offer it to Carson.

  She walked closer, still not certain he was alive until his eyes fluttered op
en. She stood still, waiting for him to focus on her.

  “You came,” he said, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

  She nodded. “You wanted to see me?”

  He turned his head into the pillow, and she wondered how much trying to talk drained his energy.

  “I was wrong,” he whispered. “It was wrong what I did.”

  She contained the sarcastic retort she wanted to reply with, instead she agreed with him. “Yeah. You were wrong to send me away.”

  “I was...I was hurting.”

  “Okay, so we’re going to go back down that road?” She leaned closer. “I was hurting too.”

  “I’m sorry, Carson. I only added to your hurt. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. Those were the last words she ever thought she’d hear him say, deathbed or not. His hand opened, beckoning her. She stared at it, almost afraid to touch him. Finally she did, placing hers in his open palm. He tried to close his fingers but couldn’t so she wrapped hers around his and squeezed.

  “Can you forgive me?” he asked. “I need you to forgive me.”

  It was the moment of truth for her. She’d been over this scenario a thousand times—him asking her to forgive him. Her answer was always the same. No. She knew in her heart it wouldn’t be any different this time. She couldn’t forgive him. There were too many lost years, too many memories that were now tainted.

  But as this once strong, proud man was reduced to an invalid, reduced to begging for forgiveness in his last hours, she didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. She leaned closer, still squeezing his hand.

  “Yes. I forgive you,” she said softly. As soon as she said the words, she was glad she’d chosen to lie. His eyes lost the hardness that she always associated with him. Weakly, he squeezed her fingers.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  His eyes slipped closed as his hand went limp and she glanced quickly at the nurse. “I think he—”

  “No. Not yet,” she said as she moved Carson out of the way. “But it won’t be long now. I don’t think he’ll make the night.”