The music was light-and-lively, toe-tapping stuff that made Dori itch to move her feet. But she wouldn't have if Maggie hadn't said, "Everyone dance with the one who brung 'em."
Dori looked around to see Maggie give Riley a shove in her direction. He looked momentarily panic-stricken. But a stern look from Maggie sent him heading toward her.
She looked away, trying to pretend disinterest, expecting that he would find something or someone to waylay him before he got there. But the next thing she knew a pair of pointy-toed boots stopped right in front of her.
She looked up into Riley's eyes, astonished. He actually intended to dance with her?
She hadn't considered it a possibility, despite Maggie's urging. In fact, Dori had never even danced with Chris. Of course Chris had always played the music wherever they had been, so she'd never expected to. But even if he had been available, she didn't think he would have. Dancing somehow wasn't Chris's style. She wouldn't have thought it was Riley's. But he wasn't moving away.
"Do you…?" She still hesitated.
"Do I dance?" A self-deprecating grin quirked the corner of his mouth. "Well, some people might not call it that, but I've been known to now and then."
Dori remembered the photo of a very young Riley with his arm around an equally young Tricia at another dance many years ago. "I wasn't implying you didn't," she said quickly. "I was just … surprised." That you wanted to dance with me. Of course she didn't say that.
"My daddy said a cowboy ought to be able to dance as well as he can ride." Riley sounded absolutely serious.
Dori's brows lifted.
Then his grin flashed again. "Strattons are liberated men."
And drop-dead-gorgeous men, too, Dori thought, especially when they smiled. And who was she to say no to a handsome man, especially this handsome man—the man she had fallen in love with.
Be careful, Dori, her rational mind cautioned her. He could break your heart.
But she already knew it was too late to be careful. She'd stopped being careful when she'd left Livingston and jumped into the unknown in an effort to preserve Jake's dreams. Sometime in the past few weeks, her own dreams had risen from the ashes, as well.
Those dreams involved Riley.
Dancing with him just brought them one step closer to being real.
So, damn her heart and her fears, full speed ahead. She held out her hands, and he drew her lightly into his arms.
She had always admired Riley's loose-hipped stroll. She had, since their arrival at the ranch, enjoyed the sight of his ease on horseback. Both on foot and on a horse, he had a natural easy grace that drew a woman's eye.
But it was nothing compared to the awareness she felt when he took her in his arms and danced with her.
It wasn't exactly "close dancing," but it was a lot closer than Dori expected. Just the feel of his hands on hers seemed erotically charged tonight.
Because of the way she felt about him? Because obviously Maggie and Sue and perhaps others were rooting for her and Riley to make it as a couple? Because of the wondering way Riley was looking into her eyes as they moved together in the Tanners' yard?
She didn't know.
She only knew she felt lost when the music stopped and sorry when Riley's hands dropped away from her.
And sorrier still a couple of dances later when he held Tricia in his arms.
Dori had thought he wasn't going to dance again. He hadn't danced after that first dance with her. He'd stood against the fence nursing a beer and talking with Noah Tanner, watching the boys playing ball in the field. Dori, flustered at how she'd felt, had excused herself and slipped into the house to breathe deeply and steady her pistoning heart.
The music began again, but she didn't care. She'd danced with the only man she wanted to dance with. That was enough.
But when she came back, two dances later, Trace Jackson was waiting. He held out a hand to her. "Ah, I was lookin' for you. Dance, pretty lady?"
She could hardly say no. So she took Trace's hand and let him lead her into an easy two-step. He grinned at her. She gave him a fleeting smile in return. But she had to concentrate on what she was doing in order not to step on his feet.
She did so, anyway, when she looked up to see Tricia Cannon in Riley's arms.
"Oh, sorry!" She gabbled, trying to get straightened out, to remember what she was supposed to be doing.
Focus on your partner, honey, her mother had always told her. Don't pay attention to anyone else. It's not polite.
True.
Impossible.
As much as she tried to concentrate on Trace, her gaze seemed relentlessly attracted to the sight of Tricia and Riley together.
They seemed like a perfect couple. Tricia was so small that the top of her head barely touched Riley's chin. She looked delicate—doll-like. And she seemed so … so … comfortable in his arms. As if she belonged there.
Dori remembered the high school picture on Jake's bedroom wall and guessed that Tricia had belonged in Riley's arms for quite some time.
When had they broken up? When Tricia had married Jeff?
Had she dumped Riley to marry another man?
Dori couldn't imagine.
Jeff Cannon was a handsome man in his own right. Even taller than Riley, with broader shoulders and a stubborn jaw, he was very attractive. Dori could see that he would appeal to some women.
But judging from the way Tricia was edging just a little closer to Riley as they danced, she still felt something for him.
What bothered Dori most was the thought that Riley still felt something for her.
He felt hot.
Wyoming nights were rarely scorchers, but this one was making Riley sweat. There were clouds building behind the Big Horns, raising the humidity, increasing the temperature.
Or maybe it wasn't the night at all.
Maybe it was the dancing.
He wasn't usually all that eager to dance, but it was such a great excuse to do what he'd been wanting to do. Hell, how often could a guy just put his arms around a woman in public? Especially a woman he'd been aching to put his arms around ever since … well, he couldn't even remember how long.
Certainly since he'd kissed her that night in the alcove.
God, yes, he'd been aching to touch Dori again since then.
He hadn't dared. There was a line there—a line that required commitment to cross. Riley had never been a man given to casual sex. He'd tried it a couple of times after Tricia. But there had always been something missing.
And he knew what it was.
Love.
Just thinking the word sent shivers down his spine and made the hair on the back of his neck stand right up straight.
Love made the difference.
It was Tricia he loved. Tricia he hadn't touched in a dozen years.
Why now? Why was she making him dance with her tonight?
It was bittersweet. It was like pressing his nose against the candy store window, looking in, knowing he could never have what was inside. And yet somehow, even as they danced, his mind kept drifting. He kept remembering how Dori had felt in his arms. She was taller than Tricia. Slender, but not tiny. She had seemed, somehow, to fit more naturally in his embrace.
He glanced over at where she'd been standing next to Maggie.
She wasn't there. He frowned and looked around wildly.
"What's the matter?" Tricia asked, looking up into his eyes and fluttering her thick, blonde lashes.
"N-nothing." But still he scowled. Had she gone inside? Was she with Jake? His eyes searched the small groups of people laughing and talking. And then, quite suddenly, she danced right past him—in the arms of Trace Jackson.
"Ow!"
"Oh, sorry." Riley grimaced and gave Tricia a quick apologetic smile. "Didn't mean to step on you. Must've got distracted."
"Hmm." Tricia gave him a searching look. Out of sheer habit, Riley looked away. "She's quite something," Tricia said suddenly.
"Huh? What?
Who?"
Tricia laughed, a soft, musical laugh. "Your … not quite sister-in-law. Chris's lover. Who else?"
Riley felt the muscles in his jaw bunch. He watched Dori smiling at Trace. It set his teeth on edge. Trace was a good hand, but he had a thing for the ladies. Dori didn't need a man to lead her astray.
"She's a good person," he said firmly. He wasn't sure why he thought Tricia's description of Dori was somehow disparaging or why he thought she needed defending, but he did. "She's a great mother," he added.
"Of course she is," Tricia said diplomatically.
"You'd like her if you got to know her."
Tricia smiled up at him. She flashed those gorgeous dimples at him. "I'm sure I would."
"You would," Riley insisted, dancing Tricia closer to Dori.
And then the music ended and he dropped his hold on her and turned toward Dori. "Come on," he said abruptly. "I've got to get up early. It's time to go home."
* * *
Nine
« ^ »
The rain on his face woke him.
Riley was not unaccustomed to raindrops falling on his head. It was part and parcel of life on the range. But it was not supposed to be part and parcel of life in the bunkhouse.
He blinked and sat up, swiping at his face, then yanking the blankets up and rolling over, attempting to bury himself beneath them.
But the rain was relentless. And the blankets—unlike the bedroll he used outdoors—weren't waterproof. Hell.
He threw the covers aside, hauled himself up and reached for his jeans. Of course they were wet, too. So was his shirt. He muttered more obscenities as he stumbled over to the dresser and pawed through a drawer for dry clothes.
The whole damn roof seemed to be leaking like a sieve. It had been sheer good luck, apparently, that he hadn't been washed out before now.
And sheer bad luck that it was tonight—the night when he'd gone to sleep remembering their dance earlier, remembering all too well what it had been like to hold Dori in his arms.
And Tricia, too, he reminded himself, surprised that he hadn't thought of her first. Hell, in one evening he'd held more women close than he had in the past dozen years.
He dragged on a dry pair of jeans, stuffed his feet into his boots, jerked on a shirt and slapped his hat on his head. Then he headed for the house.
It was three in the morning. He'd be up by five-thirty. Two and a half hours in the middle of the night—she'd never even know he'd used the couch.
Easing the back door open, Riley let himself in as quietly as he could. It was the first time he'd been in the house at night since Dori and Jake had arrived. He hadn't thought it would feel any different. It did. It felt … lived in. Homey. Warm.
Maybe it was the lingering scent of brownies from the pan that Dori had made yesterday afternoon. Maybe it was the stack of folded laundry on the kitchen table. His laundry, he realized. Clothes that Dori must have folded even after they'd come home last night, after he'd checked the horses and gone on to bed.
Dry clothes, he thought, feeling oddly grateful.
The ones he had put on to come into the house were damp from his sprint across the yard. He stripped them off now and pulled on dry ones. He tried not to think about her folding his briefs. He knew the thought would make him hard. Every time he thought about it, crazy as it was, he almost felt as if her hands had touched him!
He dragged a clean white T-shirt over his head, then draped his jeans and shirt on the kitchen chairs. Then he padded into the living room and contemplated the couch. It was long and narrow and it wasn't going to be very comfortable. He was in no hurry to stretch out on it.
He thought maybe he'd go back to the bathroom first. And on his way back, if he just happened to glance into Dori's room—his room, he reminded himself—well, maybe he could say he was looking for a pair of socks.
He went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth. He contemplated his face in the mirror and ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. He looked a hell of a lot older than the kid he remembered who used to look in the mirror out of these same eyes. Where had the years gone?
Where had his life gone?
What did he have to show for any of it?
Go to sleep, he told himself. You never were a damn bit of good at this soul-searching business. There's no point to it.
And there wasn't. There was only living day to day. Getting by. Trying not to think about the years, about the past, about all the dreams he'd once had.
What was wrong with him tonight was that those dreams seemed to be rising from the dead, drifting up out of the ashes, stirring to wakefulness. They made him want—
No, no, they didn't. Don't think about it, he told himself. Go to sleep. He flicked out the light and headed for the living room.
But first he had to stop and look at Dori. He'd never seen Dori asleep.
He had no right to look at her now. He couldn't help himself.
He stood in the doorway to his room—now hers—and gazed in. There was no moonlight to help him. No stars. He had to step in, to go closer, to step aside and let the tiny bit of light reflected from the nightlight in the bathroom spill across her face.
She was beautiful. Of course he'd always known that. Chris would never have looked twice at her if she hadn't been.
No, he admitted to himself, that wasn't exactly true. Dori had an innate sweetness about her that would have made her beautiful—even to Chris. Was that what had attracted his brother?
Riley didn't want to think about it.
He didn't want to think about Dori and his brother. Didn't want to remember that she'd loved his brother. "Mmm."
The soft sound from the bed made him jerk, afraid that she was awakening. But she only smiled a little and hugged her pillow closer. She'd never held him that close, Riley thought.
And she never would.
Get out of here! Now. Don't think things like that. Don't want things like that!
He didn't want them, he assured himself as he beat a retreat to the couch. He didn't.
It was Tricia he loved.
It was Dori, though, who spent the night in his dreams.
She awoke at six. The skies were lead-gray, and Dori could hear rain on the roof. There was a chill in the air, and even though she knew that winter came early in these parts, she didn't think it ought to arrive in August. But the rain might be snow at higher elevations. She got up and pulled on a robe, then went to look out the window.
She wondered when Riley had begun moving cattle this morning. He had talked about getting an early start.
"Don't bother fixin' me breakfast," he'd said last night on their way home. He'd been polite, almost formal. The man who had danced with her scant hours earlier, seemed to have vanished into thin air.
Of course he had, she reminded herself, once he'd danced with Tricia Cannon.
Riley and Tricia.
She'd wondered if he might say something about it—them!—explain a little on the way home. But of course he hadn't.
Further reflection had made her realize that he never would. Feelings were one thing Riley never talked about. And feelings for another woman—especially unrequited feelings—were so far off the list of conversational topics that she might as well expect the Stardust cowboy to come sit on her bed and sing "Home on the Range" just for her.
Riley and Tricia.
Damn it, don't! She sighed and tried not to. Heartbreak wasn't something she wanted to go looking for. She was afraid it would find her soon enough. She stuffed her feet into a pair of moccasins, scuffed out down the hall to put on some coffee—and stopped dead at the sight of Riley sound asleep on the couch. What the—?
Bare calves and feet stuck out below one end of a small afghan. He had the other end clutched against his T-shirt-clad chest. Most of it, however, was dangling off the couch and onto the floor, leaving her a very good view of Riley in his briefs.
Instantly Dori looked away, embarrassed at the direction of her gaze.
; Almost as quickly, she looked back.
"You've got to trust your instincts, Dor'," Milly had insisted when Dori was driving away from Livingston to an unknown future.
So, fine, she was trusting her instincts.
She couldn't help it that they were base! It wasn't often she had a chance to stand there and look her leisure at a barely clad man. Especially this man.
Riley shifted in his sleep. So did the contents of his briefs. He was—Dori swallowed—large.
Men were. When they slept, they, er … grew. It was academic. It had nothing to do with sexual excitement. Of course she knew that. Still…
She pressed her hands to suddenly warm cheeks. And then she took a step backwards, stumbled, bumped into the lamp and—
"Huh! Wha—?" Riley's eyes jerked open as Dori groped for balance.
"I—you—" Her face was flaming. She could feel it. "It's past six," she managed at last. "What are you—"
He sat up, yanking the afghan around his waist with one hand, raking his fingers through his hair with the other. "Cripes! I must've—"
"What are you—?"
"The roof leaks. I came in and fell asleep and— Hell." He stumbled to his feet and, clutching the afghan around him, he headed toward the bathroom. "I gotta get going."
Dori heard the door bang. She stood rooted to the spot, her cheeks still aflame. Then she heard the door open again. "Dori?"
"What?"
"Hand me my clothes, will you?"
He went out in the rain to check on the cattle.
"When I come back, I'll fix the roof," he promised on his way out the door. He had to get that roof fixed.
He didn't want to even think about waking up to find Dori standing over him on the couch again! Cripes, why had he overslept like that?
Well, it wouldn't happen tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd be back in the bunkhouse.
In the meantime, he spent the day remembering what she'd looked like sleeping—trying to forget she'd seen him sleeping! And he came home early, determined to climb up on the roof to nail down something to cover the leaks.
THE STARDUST COWBOY Page 13