Lead Me On

by Crystal Green

  13

  THAT NIGHT, CLINT slammed the old-model push-button phone in his barn office into its cradle, letting the curses fly.

  Luckily, nothing but the whicker of his stabled cutting horses answered him.

  He’d just been trying to get a hold of his brothers, who’d left a message a few days ago while Clint was working, saying that their lawyer would finally be contacting Clint’s own attorney this coming week for a meeting about Dad’s will and the ranch.

  Neither of them had answered any of his calls, so Clint hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to talk some sense into them—not that they had ever listened to sense before. Hell, he didn’t even have a lawyer yet. Good God, deep down, he had believed that his brothers would never go that far.

  His own blood.

  Yet they had, and the betrayal made Clint feel as if he’d been sideswiped by a car while sitting at a stop sign. He’d seen it coming in the rearview mirror, but he hadn’t thought it would hit him.

  Then...CRASH.

  He shoved out of his chair, walking out of the sparse office and into the barn itself, his boots crunching over straw. The horses peered at him out of their stalls, and one, a favorite broodmare he called Calamity Jane, neighed at him.

  It was as if she knew that he was upset about more than just his brothers. They were simply the topping on the mountain of hurt that was mostly Margot, who had also sideswiped him. And she had kept right on going down the road without ever looking back to see what kind of damage she’d inflicted.

  He thought he’d be okay, but the injury had run deeper than he’d first realized. And it had only grown, day by day. Truthfully, he’d hung up the phone about a hundred times when he’d been about to call her, to ask her why she’d left that letter and nothing else.

  He went to Calamity Jane, resting his hand on her muzzle as she canted her ears forward.

  “I knew it all along,” he said softly to her. “They all break your heart at some point. I just didn’t believe it’d happen to me.”

  Jane sympathetically blinked her big brown eyes, as if telling him, “You can’t lose hope.”

  God, he didn’t want to let hope go. In his dreams, he kept imagining that Margot would appear one night in his room with her basket in hand, smiling, offering it to him so he could choose another destination. And when he read the slip of paper, it would say “Right here on this ranch, just outside Visalia, California.”

  But he would go anywhere for her, really.

  Clint patted Calamity Jane. “She has no idea that I’d hop on a plane to the far corners for her. I never got the chance to tell her that.”

  She rubbed against him in solidarity just before he walked away, down the barn’s aisle, where one of the ranch hands, a guy they called Blume, was mucking out a stall.

  They said good-night, and Clint walked through the unseasonably warm evening, hopping into his truck and driving home.

  His silent home with the dimly lit windows.

  In the shower, he occupied himself with thoughts of what he would have for dinner, or if he should go out with the boys tonight, but he couldn’t get excited about either one.

  Still, he had to eat, so he put on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, heading for the second-story hallway.

  But then...

  He thought he heard a voice outside the window that he’d cracked to let in some of the Indian summer night air.

  Stunned into stillness, he listened again. It’d sounded like Margot.

  But didn’t he hear her voice and see her face in his thoughts all the time?

  Just as he was about to write off the sound, he heard a pounding knock on his front door, then his doorbell rang.

  “Clint! I know you’re in there!”

  He had to be hearing things.

  He was almost afraid to go to his window and look down below, because if he was wrong—if he was just imagining this—he’d officially be crazy.

  But he was pulled to that window, anyway, and he held his breath, his blood tapping as he opened the window all the way and leaned out.

  And there she was, coming out from under the porch eaves as if she’d heard the window creaking open, her hands on her hips.

  Just as knee-weakening as ever under the porch light.

  Her hair was piled at the nape of her neck, as if she’d haphazardly shoved it there, and she was wearing a long summer dress, as if she’d been lounging and had suddenly roused herself for a road trip.

  He still couldn’t believe it, but she seemed just as flabbergasted at the sight of him, her hands slipping down off her hips.

  “Margot?” he asked, his voice raw.

  It was obvious that she was trying to gather herself. “I...I just drove, and I ended up here for some reason.”

  For some reason. Had he been right to keep hoping...?

  Pride and that all-too-present hurt came to his rescue, and it was as if a wall went up around his heart. He wasn’t going to let her do this to him again.

  “Did you forget something in the house?” he asked. “Your toothbrush? A pair of boots? Maybe a letter?”

  She hung her head for a moment, then looked back up at him. “I didn’t know what else to do, Clint.”

  “About what?”

  “Are you going to make me yell everything up at you?”

  He could either give her a hard time or he could hear her out.

  But once she was inside his home, he wasn’t sure he could ever let her out again.

  Then she tilted her head. “I have a lot to say, Clint. Please.”

  And that was all it took to get him to fold. Dammit.

  “Door’s open,” he said.

  She glanced up at him for a few seconds longer, and he could see that it had taken all her bravery to be here—just as it had for him when he’d put himself on a limb the last time they’d seen each other.

  After she disappeared under the eaves, he heard his front door open. Then close.

  Raking back his hair with his hand, he couldn’t get his feet to move.

  What if everything between them collapsed tonight? What if it’d never been there in the first place?

  He couldn’t stand more heartbreak—not after Margot’s letter. Not after his brothers.

  As he heard her footsteps, he finally got himself going, coming to stand by the top of the stairs.

  She was at the bottom, gripping the polished rail.

  And there they waited, so close but so far.

  “You had a long trip,” he finally said.

  “I drove most of the day.” She tightened her hold on the rail. “I would’ve driven a lot longer, though.”

  “For what, Margot?”

  She hauled in a deep breath, blew it out. During that short space of time, he swore his heart banged at least fifty times.

  “I couldn’t stay away from you,” she said. “I kept waking up at night, with the condo so quiet. I wished I could hear you breathing next to me, just like that one night we spent together.” She laughed sadly. “I kept wondering what might have happened if I’d stayed another day with you. Then another, until they all just ran into each other in one long, happy time. Because, just like you said, this is more home than I’ve ever had, Clint, and it had everything to do with you.”

  Her emotion struck him, and he could barely get the words out. “And why didn’t you just tell me that face-to-face?”

  “Because I thought that if I had to say goodbye in front of you, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  Shaking his head, he almost gave up. Sometimes she made no sense.

  But, God help him, most of the time he actually understood her nonsensical thoughts—just like now.

  “I was so wrong,” she said. “That’s why I’m here, to tell you every
thing that was written between every line in that letter.” She took the first stair, pausing on it. “I told you that you’d find another girl who was perfect for you, when all along I knew that she might be me. I’ve always done the leaving, and I couldn’t stand the thought of what might happen if I got in too deep with you and you someday left me.”

  As he watched, she climbed up two more steps, and his blood gave a push in his veins.

  “Why would you think I’d leave?” he asked.

  She clutched the rail. “Mainly because you seem to think I’m this successful woman, and in the near future, when you inevitably found out that I’m not anymore, you were going to change your mind about me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My writing career is going down the tubes.” She tensed up, as if anticipating his make-or-break reaction.

  “Are you kidding?” he said.

  She gave him a puzzled glance.

  “Margot,” he said, coming down one stair, “you’re the last person in the world who’d ever be a failure.”

  It was as if the air had cracked between them, tumbling down.

  She lowered her head, her voice thick. “You’re the only one I’ve told about this. And that has to say something, doesn’t it? That you’re the one I trusted to hear it when, not too long ago, I didn’t trust you at all?”

  He walked the rest of the way to meet her on the stairway, and when he did, he slipped his hand under her chin to make her look up at him. Her eyes were shiny from unshed tears.

  “You don’t know,” he said, “just how gratified I am to be the one you told.”

  She bit her lip, then nodded, holding on to his arm instead of the railing now.

  He touched her jaw with his fingertips, hardly believing this was happening.

  “I came back to offer more than an apology and explanations, though,” she said. “First, I want to be here when you have to deal with your brothers.”

  At this, his throat tightened up. He could give her a home, but she gave him the support he’d always wanted, though he’d never realized it until now.

  They’d been drawn to each other in college, but it’d taken years of living to make their connection come alive, giving each other what they really needed.

  She wasn’t done. “I want to be that fish-out-of-water, true country girl who lives where your parents lived so happily. And, well, this next one proves just how superficial I am, but I want to show everyone that the joke’s on them.”

  When he took her into his arms, she fit against him as if she was made to be there and nowhere else in this world.

  “Just imagine,” he murmured into her hair. “Two butts of a joke who ended up together.”

  Then he brushed his lips over hers, more gently than any touch they’d ever shared. But it was enough to zing a sizzling thrill over and through every inch of him.

  Without having to say anything, they sank to the stairs, him taking her weight on his body as he cradled her against him.

  He worked his fingers at her nape, undoing that bundle of hair until it tumbled down, thick and fragrant. He kept kissing her—little pecks at the corner of her mouth, on her cheek, under her jaw, making her take in tiny breaths.

  The first time they’d been together at the reunion, he’d told her he would find eighty ways to pleasure her, but he hadn’t known about these innocent, erotic places before. Now, each one was a discovery in itself.

  A kiss to the neck, and she gasped.

  A nip at the skin between her collarbone and shoulder, and she clutched at his T-shirt.

  Then back to her mouth—lush, devouring, slow and easy.

  They made out on the stairway, her body stretched over his, for what seemed like hours. Just kissing like famished kids and nothing else.

  Until she slid her hand under his shirt, her palm on his ribs.

  He cupped her face, looking into her pale, clear eyes. “You don’t want to take it a little slower this time?”

  Because now, it wouldn’t be a basket game.

  She looked at him, into him. “I want all of you, all the time, Clint.”

  And she kissed him again, taking them into their own world.

  * * *

  MARGOT MEANT EVERY word. She’d driven for miles and miles to say them, stopping only once for gas and taking off again, and the entire time, her heart had been in her throat.

  What was she going to say?

  Was he going to kick her out, tell her she’d had her chance and she’d blown it?

  But he’d accepted everything about her, even the parts she’d been so afraid to expose to anyone.

  The Cosmo girl and the cowboy. Who would’ve ever called it?

  He rolled her to the side, keeping her in his strong arms, until she grasped the bottom of his T-shirt, yanking it up and over his head. Unable to wait a moment more, she pulled down the top of her dress, where the basic white bra she’d put on this morning pressed against her breasts, making them swell.

  “I didn’t have time to change clothes,” she said, as if in apology for the least exotic wardrobe possible.

  She drew in a breath as he kissed the tops of her breasts.

  This was no basket-inspired costume, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “I’ll change your clothes for you,” he said, reaching around her back to unhook her.

  Her breasts spilled out, and he smiled, positioning her above him so that he could take her into his mouth, suck on her until she wiggled on top of him, plumped and damp between her legs.

  He slipped a hand under her dress, pressing against her achiest spot.

  “You have way too many clothes on, anyway,” he murmured.

  Then he tugged her dress up, over her head, just as she’d done with his T-shirt.

  “And these?” he said, pulling at her panties. “No need for them, either.”

  She braced herself on the steps as he worked the material down her legs and off her body.

  Then he placed his hands on her ribs, guiding her so that her most vulnerable area was above him, her hands braced on the steps, her legs open for him.

  Being this exposed caused her pulse to hammer, and he made her wait, no doubt teasing her, just as he’d always done.

  And always would, if she had her way about it.

  “Here’s a place I haven’t kissed today,” he said, using his fingers to part her.

  She held back a delighted sound, and he laughed, knowing what he did to her.

  But instead of taking that as a devilish move in one of their games, she accepted it, took it wholeheartedly, then lowered her hips to him.

  He kissed her thoroughly, with mouth and tongue. Slow laves, maddening sucks, licks and pulls. All the while, heat gathered in her belly, wisps curling up and up until she almost felt carried away.

  “Don’t come yet,” he said, guiding her down his body so that she could rub herself against the bulge in his sweats, feeling his tip.

  “I’m not sure I can wait,” she whispered.

  “Now who’s the one who’s not going to last?”

  Le Bain. She’d taunted him about coming too soon when they’d been in that bubble bath together.

  Her cowboy. Her Clint.

  He took off the sweats, revealing his erection.

  “Don’t worry about what comes next.” She touched him. “I’m on the pill, and—”

  He assured her that he was fine, too. He’d barely even gotten the words out before he eased into her, so gently that she could feel every sliding inch.

  They didn’t move for a moment, just looked into each other’s eyes.

  She saw something so profound there that pressure built in her chest this time, not only in her belly.

  A future. Their future.r />
  He moved inside her, tender thrusts, the sweat of their bodies making them slip against each other. When he turned her over, his arms under her as a cushion, he pounded into her, pushing her up the stairs.

  Up...up...

  She was ascending in more than one way, climbing to a spot that made everything so clear, so new, so—

  Her climax buffeted her, a million wet splashes, like a storm that had thrashed out of her and into him, because he came right after her.

  And then, when they both had calmed a little, instead of trying to think of a way to escape him before he could look into her eyes again, she stared into his gaze.

  She allowed him to see all the way into her for the very first time.

  Epilogue

  WITH HALLOWEEN JUST around the corner, Clint and Margot had decorated the ranch house with carved pumpkins and ghoulies like paper ghosts that hung from the corners of the family and living rooms.

  He stood next to a life-size skeleton that Margot had unearthed from the storage room after she’d moved her stuff into the house.

  “Is this really suitable for a housewarming?” he asked her as she fluffed the hair of a broomstick-bound witch near the fireplace.

  “I think our guests have seen scarier things,” she said, coming over to him and cuddling into his side.

  He wrapped an arm around her—his fledgling cowgirl in jeans and a fashionable rodeo shirt. It wasn’t a costume, either. It was just Margot, stripped down to her fish-who-found-water self.

  He kissed her, long and easy. No rush, because they had all the time in the world.

  But there was something beating at him nonetheless. Something he’d wanted to say to her for the past couple of weeks.

  Nuzzling her ear, he went for it, whispering, “Margot...”

  “I love you so much, Clint.”

  Warmth flooded him, here, there, everywhere. “You do?”

  “I do.” Her eyes were wide, as if this were the most momentous thing that had ever happened to her.

  He must’ve taken too long to return the sentiment, because she gave him a little push on the chest.

  “Well, do you?” she asked.

  “Hell. Yeah.” He laughed, drawing her back into his arms. “You just beat me to saying it.”