by Neva Brown
Her heart rate surged to a gallop but she tried to maintain an outward appearance of calm composure. “It’s been like that all winter. The weather people say we’ve had more snow this winter than has ever been recorded before.” Questions burned in her brain. How had he found her? She raised her chin and motioned him forward. “Come on in. I’ll get this outer layer of clothes off then make some coffee.”
Tres watched as she tugged off the knitted cap and sunshades. Her auburn hair cascaded down in waves to frame her face. Her sparkling green eyes asked an unspoken question. He ached to take her in his arms and hold her close. Instead, he waited as she slide the fur-lined boots off with the bootjack then unzipped the insulated coveralls. He stepped close and slipped them off her shoulders then down so she could step out of them.
He hung the snow-spattered, wet apparel on the peg next to him, brushing the inside of them past his nose. The inner fabric smelled like his Casey. He watched as she put her cap and shades onto a peg and tucked her stocked feet into soft brown leather loafers. Her willowy body, with its soft curves, clad in creamy-white wool slacks and sweater, drew him like a magnet.
His arms lifted as if in supplication and gave a silent word of thanks when she slid her arms around his waist, burying herself inside his jacket against his chest. In quiet jubilation, he held her, absorbing the joy and comfort, the sense of completeness. Finally the chill in the garage seeped in. Casey eased away from him and took his hand, inviting him into her hideaway.
The aroma of yeast bread filled the kitchen, reminding Casey to put the rising loaves into the oven. Feeling Tres’ eyes following her every move made her edgy. She wanted to forget the mundane things, go to him, hold him, breath in the scent of him, and feel his heart beat against her as she held him close. Instead, she started coffee.
“I’ve intended to write, but just haven’t,” Casey said. “Clyde sends the Cielo Alto newspaper so I’ve kept up with the happenings. You’ve been one of their favorite topics through the holiday season.” He moved close to her as she slid cookies onto a plate and set it on the tray with coffee mugs.
“Let’s go sit by the fire,” she said as she poured the coffee.
Tres picked up the tray and followed her. He put the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch while Casey added another log to the steady burning fire.
“How did you find me?”
He just grinned at her as he embraced her and lowered his lips to hers. She returned his kiss and slipped into a world of magic that only she and Tres inhabited.
Later, when the oven timer buzzed loudly announcing the bread was done, Casey struggled back to the real world. Every nerve in her body tingled from his caresses. Her hand smoothed along rock-hard muscles in his back. They lay twined together on the couch in front of the fireplace with never-touched coffee still on the tray. His once-perfectly-creased shirt lay crumpled on the floor close to her inside-out sweater. As the haze cleared in her mind, she saw his dark, blue, stormy eyes that held mysteries, mysteries she did not want to unravel but wanted to be a part of.
The insistent noise of the oven timer sounded again. Casey let her hand brush his shoulder then the side of his face before scrambling up and hurrying to the kitchen.
Tres watched as she scooped up her sweater untangled it and pulled it over her head. She moved with a subtle sway in her hips. His need for her stormed through him like an avalanche at full force. The ache he felt sucked the air out of his lungs and squeezed his loins into a knot of pain. He fought for control as he stared back at the big marmalade cat with unblinking eyes sitting in the streak of sunlight across the floor. As the cat twitched his tail, got up and padded toward the kitchen, Tres sucked in a deep breath, got up, and went out onto the snow-covered deck. He needed the cold that attacked his shirtless body to cool his raging need. He stared at the silent landscape until the cold prickled his bare skin.
Cold embraced him, feeling almost like a burn as he inhaled then exhaled, watching his breath form fog in the icy air. He welcomed the pain of the cold as he castigated himself for what had just happened. His plans to court Casey, to talk with her, to coax her back to Spencer Mansion were forgotten the instant he kissed her. His libido had taken control, not something he was proud of.
The cold drove him back into the house. He put on the crumpled shirt and tucked it in as if it were crisp and smooth. Picking up the tray, he went to the kitchen where he could hear Casey talking to the cat.
He poured the cold coffee down the drain and leaned back against the counter, willing himself to be patient. Before he could decide on the best way to broach the subject that had made her flee the Running S, she began to talk.
“There’s hot coffee in the pot. Help yourself while I make us a Mexican omelet to go with the fresh bread.” Not looking at him or hesitating, she nodded toward the cat. “This is Lazarus. I found him out on the deck almost frozen the first morning I was here. I don’t know who he belongs to, but we’ve had a good sojourn together. I put a notice on the bulletin board down at the convenience store where everyone up this way trades, but no one has claimed him.”
He sensed her tightly controlled tension as she measured and mixed ingredients. Pouring himself a cup of fresh coffee, he sat down at the table. Her graceful, efficient movements, made his body hum. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I didn’t until I came up here. It was pretty much a matter of survival at first, then I realized I enjoyed it. Evidently my landlord likes to cook. I found a shelf full of cookbooks and an array of ingredients that I didn’t know existed. I’ve learned how to make some interesting dishes.”
The aroma of the cooking omelet whetted Tres’ appetite. It had been a long time since he had stopped for gas at an all-night quick stop where he’d bought a cup of bitter coffee and a not-too-fresh cinnamon roll. Tres got up and poured Casey a cup of coffee as she set the steaming concoction on the table along with the hot bread, butter, and honey. The spicy omelet, liberally laced with crisp bacon bits and cheese, did not disappoint.
Casey watched Tres take his first bite as she sipped hot coffee. He smiled at her as he swallowed. “I should have known your cooking would be excellent, just like everything else you do. This is delicious.”
The tension eased as they ate and she spoke about her months alone. Tres prompted just often enough to keep her talking as he basked in her presence. His world felt right again.
With the table cleared and a second cup of coffee poured, Casey sat across the table from Tres and looked him in the eye. “At the risk of sounding inhospitable, why are you here?”
Tres tried to organize his thoughts as he looked at this Casey who had become a chameleon, a complex mystery, a composite of all those personalities he had seen as she recovered. A woman who’d walked away from what he considered a serious relationship and had isolated herself in the mountains, and . . . damnit! Before that blasted buzzer interrupted, she’d responded to him with a passion that had kicked his body into overdrive. He felt flummoxed. Sure, he’d told himself he was coming to apologize, to set things straight, to see she was okay. But in truth, he came because he was starving for her, wanted her at Spencer Mansion with him. She made him complete, made life worth living.
He watched Casey’s hands encircle the warm coffee mug, saw a nervous tension in her slender fingers, but her eyes were steady as she waited for an answer. Shoving away from the table, he went to the window and stared at the glistening snow as he spoke. “I’m here because you’re here. I need to know some things that only you can tell me.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “Why did you just up and leave?” He came back to the table, twisted his chair around, and straddled it waiting for her answer.
Casey sensed the aggression in his action. She said aloud what she had explained to herself so many times during her self-imposed exile. “Jordan and Leila’s comments made me realize I was in a situation totally foreign to me. I hated what they said and was devastated that you’d said nothing to set
them straight. But I knew their assumptions came close to being right. Only weeks before, I’d decided to do whatever it took to be with you for as long as you’d have me. But when push came to shove, I couldn’t do it.”
Tres fought to breathe. How had he missed her intentions? Then it dawned on him. She knew none of the signals and come-ons that a worldly-wise woman used to let a man know she was available. She’d just been Casey. Loyal and true. His bright, beautiful, brave Casey had suffered because of his past experiences with sophisticated women who’d sought to aggrandize themselves at his expense. His agitation quieted as he met her clear, still eyes that watched and waited.
He smiled at her, then moved around the table and took her hand. “I came to court you, to spend time with you.” He brushed his thumb across her the palm of her hand.
Speechless and looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Casey gripped his hand as he continued. “I came so we could get to know each other the way a man and woman do before they marry.”
She stood up and touched him as tears welled up then spilled over her long lashes. Rising up on tiptoes, she brushed his lips with hers and sighed as he inched her close and deepened the kiss.
Chimes and bells rang through the house, breaking the spell. She groaned against his lips. “The doorbell.”
“Nothing I know of measures up to you.” He struggled to extinguish the fire that had rekindled in his loins. Reminding himself that he had come to court Casey, not to seduce her, he brushed his hand across her cheek.
The chimes sounded again. Sighing, Casey slid her hand down Tres’ chest then went to answer the door.
“Ms. Mason, I’m Jeff Adams, and this is my daughter Jennifer, We read your notice at the store about a big marmalade cat and wondered if it could be Jennifer’s. Hers ran away last fall while we were here winterizing our cabin.”
Jennifer spoke up in a clear, tentative voice. “His name is Jelly, ‘cause he’s the color of my favorite kind of jelly.”
“Please come in. The cat I found is in the kitchen, I think,” Casey said. But the cat was trotting toward them when Casey turned around. The stately, standoffish Lazarus had become Jennifer’s Jelly at the sound of her voice. The youngster gathered him in her arms, laughing as he butted his head gently against her cheek.
A ripple of laughter from Casey and Jennifer’s dad brought Tres from the kitchen.
“Not much question about his being Jennifer’s Jelly,” Casey said.
With Jelly, AKA Lazarus, and all the cat paraphernalia Casey had acquired stowed in the back seat of the Adams’ car, along with Jennifer who insisted on sitting by the cage with her arm over it, Casey and Tres stood in the driveway watching the car until it went out of sight up the mountain road.
Tres’ arm rested on Casey’s shoulders. He felt them slump ever so slightly as she sighed.
“Feeling sad about Lazarus leaving?”
“No, not really. Lots of animals have come and gone in my life, but none of them were really mine.”
The note of resignation in her voice touched Tres’ heart. He had a feeling she thought he was one of those animals. The special emotional connection they’d had when the doorbell rang had gone. He sensed now was not the time to try to rekindle it.
“It’s too cold to be standing outside,” Casey said as she turned back up the driveway toward the door. “Let’s go in and let you get some sleep. You look dead on your feet.”
“That bad?” Tres grinned. At least he was in the same house with her again. It felt good. He could rest.
“There’s a bedroom and bath behind the open mezzanine upstairs,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“You sure it’s okay for me to stay?” he asked as he removed two pieces of luggage out of his SUV.
She looked at him like he was demented, then chuckled. “Of course. With Lazarus gone, I’ll need someone to keep me company.”
Tres awoke in late afternoon with a sense of well-being. He stood at the top of the stairs and looked down into the living room where Casey sat in a wingback chair near the fireplace. A book lay in her lap but she was staring out the windows at the big, featherlike flakes of snow falling. The bright sun of the morning was gone and snow enclosed the house in a curtain of white.
He watched her answer the cell phone on its first quiet chime. Her husky, soft voice pleasured his senses as he descended the stairs.
“Thanks for calling. I’d been debating the advisability of getting out tonight.” After listening a short time, she said, “Sure. Let me know when. Bye.”
An unsettling sensation stirred Tres’ adrenaline. He suspected it was jealousy. Had she been going on a date tonight?
Chapter 21
Casey put down her cell phone and looked up at Tres standing at the bottom of the stairs. Pure joy made every nerve in her body tingle. She spoke, “That’s a relief. I volunteer as a counselor at one of the churches in Ruidoso. Tonight was scheduled for family counseling but it’s been postponed. The weatherman says the snow will get heavier and continue at least through the night. I hope you’re all right with being snowed in for a day or two.”
Relief rushed through Tres. His eyes glistened. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be snowbound with. We can catch up on what’s been going one in each other’s lives the last few months or something.” The or something had more appeal, but catching up would have to do for now.
Casey said the first thing that popped into her mind as he settled beside her on the couch with his shoulder brushing hers. “You go first. I’m sick and tired of my own doings.” She saw uncertainty, maybe even fear, in his eyes for just a second then saw resolve.
Tres leaned back, put his arm on the back of the couch behind her, and shifted a little so he could see her face. In a subdued voice, he said, “I supposed now is as good a time as any to get some things cleared up between us. First of all, I’m not the biological father of Melanie’s son. Even though he was conceived while we were engaged, he is the son of the man Melanie married and has since divorced. The private investigator I hired assimilated all the evidence, DNA and all, without any upset to anyone.” When Casey patted him on the thigh, as if to comfort him, he gave a sigh of relief and instinctively put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
After a little, she said, “I’m glad you told me, and I’m glad for Melanie’s son that it worked out the way it did.”
Tres’ almost choked. He’d not given a thought to how the boy would have felt to find out another man was his biological father. When had he become so impervious to other people’s feelings?
Casey broke into his thoughts as she said, “From what you said, there’s more.”
“A pretty big ‘more’, I’m afraid,” he said with regret in his voice. “I didn’t realize how thick-headed and insensitive I was until Rosalinda pretty much flayed me about the way I handled that mess with my father and his wife. In hindsight, I know how much damage was done, probably by me more than by them.”
He watched bright tears pool in Casey’s eyes then spill over. He turned her to him and hugged her tight, soothing with gentle hands, whispering, “I’m sorry, so sorry. You are precious beyond price to me. Please, forgive me.”
Casey blinked her tears away, then placed her hands on each side of his face in a soft caress. “You are forgiven unequivocally and I hope you can forgive me for not dealing with things better. I’ve had lots of time to think about my immature and self-centered responses to so many things.”
Tres eased her closer, brushed a soft kiss across her lips then deepened the kiss as Casey melted against him in sweet, hot yielding. His worries and tensions vanished like mist as he heard Casey’s little purr-like sigh. He found special places to touch to cause that sweet, sexy purr. His Casey liked to be petted. He kissed the perfect shell of her ear and whispered, “Does this let you know I forgive you for all real or imagined things for now and forever?”
Casey squeaked and pushed him away as he blew in her ear. “That tickles.�
�� Her husky, soft laugh sent ripples of liquid heat through him. With a sparkle in her eyes, she said, “Welcome back, my friend. It’s been a long time.”
Tres knew exactly what she meant. That one little puff of breath in her ear reminded him, and evidently her, of that time long ago when they roamed the pastures on young horses; played jokes one each other; teased; raced; talked of serious things, or what seemed serious at the time; skinny-dipped; and formed a bond that held them now like a magic cord. He grinned at her and said, “I’m glad to be here, friend, and I might add, you didn’t make it easy.”
A log in the fireplace burned in two creating a shower of sparks. Tres got up and stirred the coals before placing another log on the grid.
“How did you find me?”
Tres turned his back to the fire and, with what looked an awful lot like a smirk on his face, said, “I snooped. Clyde Jones’ basket of out-going mail got knocked off his desk one day when I was there and I just happened to see a big fat manila envelope with your address on it. A lucky accident, don’t you think?”
“Must have been fate,” Casey teased with a knowing glint in her eyes. “So, since you’re here, tell me about the goings-on at the Running S. Do you ever get over to see Sassy Silk?”
He settled beside her again and said, “As a matter of fact, I do. She is in foal and doing well. Ira has spoiled her like you can’t believe. He has the stable hands put her in her body swing at night. He says she rests better and it takes the strain off her legs. He even got Dan to bring Raider over to keep her company.”
Casey laughed. “It sounds to me like three spoiled conspirators getting everyone to dance to their tune.”