by Sheryl Lynn
Megan giggled. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, ma’am, sorry about that” He hoisted himself upright and dusted off the seat of his trousers.
I’m used to murdering men on the tennis courts, not in the barn.” She jumped to her feet and, with long sweeps, dusted her own backside and tights-clad legs. “I didn’t mean to knock you off. Sorry.”
With equal parts excitement and dread, he noted the kiss hadn’t upset her in the least. She had a gleam in her eye like a broody hen spotting a clutch of eggs. If he kissed her again, she’d kiss him back, pressing that long, lithe body against his and wrapping her arms around him.
Megan looked beyond him, so he turned. A man wearing jeans, a plaid shirt and a bright red bandanna around his neck sauntered down the aisle. His straw hat perched far back on his head. The hat and a bristly handlebar mustache gave him an old-time cowboy appearance. He nodded in greeting.
“Hi, Cody,” Megan said.
“Got a trail ride with some ladies in an hour,” Cody said. He looked Megan up and down, and chuckled. “First time I ever saw you in a skirt, Meg. Special occasion?”
Her cheeks colored. “Cody Hodgkins, this is Tristan Cayle from Wyoming. Tristan, Cody is our head wrangler. He’s responsible for making the stables and horses look so good.”
Tristan shook hands with Cody, whose hand was as horny as a dog’s paw. If the wrangler knew about the mistaken identity and Janine’s displeasure, then his smile and firm handshake didn’t show it.
“Well now, can’t blame me for everything, Meg. You put in your share of shovel hours.” The big mustache wriggled as if alive and he winked at Tristan. “Yep, must be a real special occasion.” He tipped his hat, then continued sauntering down the aisle.
She blushed to her hairline. Enchanted, Tristan lifted her hand and entwined their fingers. He followed her out of the barn like a lamb led on a rope.
“Cody’s always teasing me,” she grumbled.
“He seems to like you well enough.” He bit back a comment about her skirt. Knowing she only dressed up on “special occasions” tickled him, and flattered him, too.
“Cody is a character, that’s for sure.” She dazzled him with a smile. “I told you about him. He’s a poet and a storyteller. He’ll be doing a show for one of the Princess Amore dinners. If Daniella Falconetti doesn’t want to kill you anymore, we can watch. He’s a hoot.”
A break in the hills offered a panoramic view of distant mountain peaks as pale as a watercolor. He’d noticed the same view from inside the lobby through a tall bank of windows. It was even more breathtaking outside. “Lots of snow up there.”
“It’ll stay until July, probably. Almost all the ski areas south of Breckenridge are still open. Do you ski?”
He shook his head. “Never tried.”
“Might have to remedy that. This is a great time of year for beginners. You can concentrate on learning without freezing to death.” She pointed at the forest. “Are you up for a short hike? I want to show you something.”
“Sure.” His dress boots weren’t the most comfortable footwear he owned, but the trail looked easy. They strolled across a meadow and entered the forest.
Even the gentle hill took a toll on him. “What’s the altitude?” He blew a hard breath.
“About eighty-seven hundred feet. You won’t pass out on me, will you?”
“Nah.” She strolled along as if she were window shopping at sea level, keeping up a running commentary about the eight miles of trails on the resort property, and he sucked wind like a lung-broke cow.
“I really like this forest,” she said. “I can come out here and pretend I’m the only person in the world.” Overhead, a pine squirrel chattered irritably at them. “Just me and the squirrels. People wear me out sometimes. I like my job, but my favorite parts are when I’m out checking the trails or cleaning the tennis courts.”
There she went again, trying to convince him she was suitable for ranch living. After that kiss she’d given him he figured it wouldn’t take too much convincing for him to lose his head.
She eyed him as if expecting comment. He thought for a moment about how to respond. “It’s sure pretty.”
She compressed her lips.
She stopped where the trail diverged. A sign proclaimed Hot Springs, No Horses On This Trail, Please. Where the trail climbed toward the hot springs it was so steep the path winding through piles of boulders had been reinforced with railroad ties to form wide steps. “You’re panting,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Price of growing old,” he said, and peeled out of his suit jacket “But I’m game.”
“You aren’t old!” She bounded up the high trail, giving him a fine view of coltish hips and muscular legs. His belly tightened; a bout of dizziness had nothing to do with the altitude.
At the top of the trail, Tristan stopped short and cocked back his hat. Down below, ringed by boulders, three pools of crystalline water were wreathed in steam that curled and tip-tapped its way around the rocks and low-growing plants. Redwood railings, benches and a gazebo reminded him of a Victorian garden. The smell of sulphur made his nose itch.
“Stinkbear Creek?” he asked.
“This feeds into it. You get used to the smell after a while. A lot of people think the fumes are good for lung problems. Nifty, huh?”
She urged him to follow her down the steep, stair-stepped pathway and warned him the smaller springs bubbling through the limestone bedrock were hot enough to scald skin. “The guy who used to own the resort built the railings around the hot pools,” she told him. She inhaled the steam curling off the water’s surface, and he followed her example, drawing in the tang of soda and minerals along with the sulphurous stink. “He put up all the shelters and benches, too.”
Tristan crouched and fingered the white-and-yellow crystals crusting the rock around the pools. They glittered like diamonds in the sunshine.
“When my knees are hurting,” she said, “there’s nothing nicer than soaking in the big pool. It stays one hundred degrees year round, and it’s better than a hot tub. What do you think?”
“Mighty fine. My brother Charles has a hot spring on his property, but it stinks like skunk. The mud around it is nasty, too, slick as oil. Womenfolk say it’s good for the complexion, but I wouldn’t sit in it on a bet.”
She knelt next to him. She pointed out the honeycombed holes in the limestone where water drained back underground, keeping the water level. “You should have seen it last week. We had a snowy winter and a wet spring, so a lot of debris washed off the hillsides. I must have hauled a ton of branches and pine needles out of the water.”
Loud cracking alarmed him. Tristan jerked his head around and saw a boulder bouncing down the path, straight at them. It struck the edge of a railroad tie and the dark wood exploded in a shower of splinters and dust. Beside him, Megan crouched, her eyes white-rimmed in disbelief.
Tristan dropped his jacket and launched himself sideways. He hooked an arm around Megan’s shoulders and shoved against the ground with both feet. Intent on getting her out of the way, he banged his knee on a rock, but ignored it as he focused on using his weight and momentum to roll them out of the way.
Hot water showered his head. He tucked and rolled on his shoulder, flinging Megan over his body. He lost his grip, grasping at empty air. Grabbing for her, he missed and she tumbled backward into the water.
Chapter Six
Pungent mineral water filled Megan’s mouth and nose. Her sweater soaked up water like a sponge. Kicking and flailing, unable to tell up from down, she finally got her feet under her and surfaced with a sputtering gasp.
“Megan!” Tristan pushed upright and reached for her. The torn breast pocket of his shirt flopped loosely. His hat floated on the water beside her.
She stared at him, he stared at her. In unison they turned their gazes on the boulder. About three feet in diameter, its rounded surface mounded like an island in the churnedup water. It had dislodged severa
l of the rocks edging the pool, as if a bulldozer had taken a bite from the rim.
“Megan? Honey, are you okay?”
It was warm in the water, but the air was cold, and her sweater felt as if it weighed four hundred pounds. Poor Tristan half sat, half reclined on the rocks, his shirt torn and dirtied and his hair falling over his forehead. He looked horrified…and very funny.
“Ah, I see,” she said, nodding. “Getting even with me for knocking you off the hay bale.” She scooped up his hat and dumped off water. Studying its sorry state, she giggled.
“Megan?”
“I’m okay.” Her clothes weren’t, though. The sweater might survive, but she doubted if the suede skirt or ankle boots would. It served her right for wearing clothes she disliked; fate gave her what she wished for. Giving up on dignity as futile, she accepted Tristan’s helping hand. Grinning over what a sorry sight she must make, she sloshed out of the pool.
She shook her arms and splattered Tristan. “So much for a sophisticated city girl. Ta-da! This is the real me.”
He caught her in a crushing bear hug and pressed his cheek to hers. Caught off guard, she stiffened, but his sunsoaked body was warm and safe and his scent swirled dizzily through her head. She hugged him back. When he turned his face, she turned hers, meeting him in the middle. Kissing him seemed the most natural thing in the world. So she did.
She tasted of mineral water, but his lips were smooth and supple, and despite her soaking-wet state, he molded her body against his, fitting them belly to belly, thigh to thigh, like a matched set, custom-made for each other.
He stopped too soon. She blinked blankly, for a moment unable to remember where they were. “I always knew from your letters that you’d be a great kisser.”
He frowned.
Sensing she’d committed a faux pas, she stepped away. He kept a steadying hand on her shoulder. Where her sweater had soaked his shirt, the cotton turned transparent, clinging like wet paint to his skin and outlining hard pectorals, a furry chest and a flat belly. She’d been around beautiful, athletic bodies all her life, but the sight of his turned her insides mushy.
“Tree branches,” she said. “And sometimes a log. But I’ve never had a rock fall in the pool. How am I going to get that thing out of here?”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He examined scrapes on his wrist and a torn shirtsleeve. “I hit you hard.”
“Not as hard as that rock would have hit me.” The situation caught up to her, and a fresh bout of shivering had nothing to do with wet or cold. She’d often wondered how people managed to get hit by cars or trains, because surely they saw something that big coming. Now she knew—they did see it coming and couldn’t believe it.
“I need to sit down,” she said quietly. Her knees buckled, and she’d have fallen if he hadn’t caught her underneath her arms and helped her to the ground. He eased onto the rocks beside her. Wincing, he massaged his left leg above the knee. “Are you hurt?” she asked.
“Jangled my leg a bit. It’s okay.” He puffed his cheeks, then blew a long breath. “Now do you believe I’m a jinx?”
“Are you kidding? If you weren’t here I’d be roadkill! You saved my life. Sheesh.” She rested her forehead on her hand and waited for the adrenaline to fade. Once she felt in control again, she raised her head. Scars on rocks, smashed railroad ties and churned gravel clearly delineated the path of destruction. She guessed the boulder had come from the mound of rocks at the very top of the trail.
“I often come here by myself in the early morning.” She pointed with her chin at the boulder. “That’s where I like to soak.” A shudder racked her head to toe.
“Looks like you hurt your knees.” He gently touched her knee where the tights were shredded and pink blood seeped from scrapes on her skin.
She shrugged off his concern, even though both her knees throbbed as if struck by mallets. “No biggie.” Noticing his suit jacket on the ground, she chuckled. The boulder had run over it, leaving dirt streaks on the brown fabric. “Let me make a wild guess. You bought that suit for this visit.”
He nodded, his smile spreading like sunshine from behind clouds.
She plucked at her ruined skirt. “I think something is trying to tell us we aren’t dress-up kind of people.”
He arose, graceful as a dancer despite his size, and helped her to her feet. The sweater felt heavier by the second, her tights were icy, the skirt dragged at her hips, and water squished in her ankle boots. Walking back to the lodge was going to be lovely. He fetched his jacket and shook it out. Reddish dust and gravel flew in a cloud. With a gallant swirl, he settled the jacket around her shoulders. His expression gone intent, he tenderly lifted strands of wet hair off her face.
“I’m okay, really,” she assured him, hoping he’d kiss her again. She hugged the jacket around her body. It hung to her knees, offering shelter from the chilly breeze.
“Scared me.” His voice had gone husky.
“Scared me, too.” Staring into his eyes was a treasure, filling her with light. “You have such nice eyes.”
He gave a start; unwittingly, she’d whispered her thought aloud. His reaction bemused her. If he was so old and experienced, how come he jumped like a poked cat every time she said something complimentary to him?
As an experiment, she said, “Actually, they’re nicer than nice. They’re beautiful. I could look into them forever.”
His face darkened under his suntan.
Enchanted, she sighed. “You saved my life, Tristan. I owe you.” She dropped her voice to a breathy whisper. “Big.”
He backed a hasty step, tripped on a jut of rock and stumbled. He’s shy, she thought in amazement. She had no more idea about how to deal with a shy man than she did about proving herself old enough to be a rancher’s wife, but the insight pleased her, anyway.
“Best get you back to the lodge before you freeze.”
His presence warmed her, but she refrained from saying so. She turned her attention up the path. Where one boulder fell, others could follow, and she felt no eagerness about climbing the narrow path where jumping clear was impossible.
“Let’s go this way.” She led him around the pool, past the gazebo, then through the forest back to the main trail. Her feet squelched inside her boots, making walking on the slippery pine straw even more difficult. She noticed Tristan’s limp; it matched her own. If fate didn’t mean for them to be together, then it sure wasted a lot of synchronicity.
“I hope this doesn’t mean the entire rock formation is unstable,” she mused aloud. “The rocks around here are mostly granite and sandstone. The sandstone is the problem because it’s porous and water gets in to freeze and thaw. The hot springs are a big draw, and I’d hate to close them.”
“Seems strange it would fall just like that.” Tristan snapped his fingers.
“Gravity,” she said philosophically. “The Colonel’s going to make me get the rock out of the pool. That’ll be fun.”
Once they reached the back door of the lodge, her teeth were chattering and she had goose bumps on top of goose bumps. He opened the door for her.
“Pretty nifty first date,” she said.
Swinging his head, he chuckled. “Get inside. You’re turning blue.”
“Mom says blue is my best color.” The warmth inside the lodge was heavenly. Her soaked clothing dripping on the floor was not. She gingerly tiptoed through the doorway of the mudroom. “Turn around, please.”
He frowned, then shrugged and did as she asked. Arms crossed, he blocked the doorway. She tugged off her boots and peeled off the ruined tights. The wet suede skirt felt like sandpaper against her cold thighs.
“Okay,” she said. When he turned around, she added, “How about I meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes?”
“Good idea.” He canted his head, his eyes dark with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He dropped his gaze to her legs, and self-consciousness gripped her. Usually she didn’t think much about t
he white scars criss-crossing both knees, but she now worried he found her ugly.
“Best doctor those scrapes.”
“I will.” He started to turn away, and as much as she wanted a shower and dry clothes, she hated him leaving her. She touched his broad back where springwater had left faint yellow spots on his white shirt. “Thank you for saving my life, Tristan.”
“Ah, it was…You’re welcome, honey.”
She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, but he moved his face and she pressed her mouth to his. Then his arm was around her waist and he hugged her close, kissing her hard and fast. He released her abruptly and she staggered. Kissing him swirled up her mind and glazed her vision. She could kiss him forever and never tire of it.
He slapped his wet hat against his thigh. “Get out of those wet clothes.”
“Right here?”
He shook an admonishing finger at her. “And don’t forget to doctor those scrapes.”
“Okay.” Watching him edge toward the door, she grinned. “Good thing all my buddies don’t kiss like you do. I’d never get any work done.”
He jammed his hat on his head and fled.
“Shy,” Megan murmured. She could handle shy.
TRISTAN PUSHED OPEN the lodge door and peered into the lobby. Kara and another young woman were working behind the desk. A couple wearing hiking clothes apparently were discussing a rack of antlers hanging on a support post. Ladies seated in the lounge, one of whom wore a purple jogging suit, drew his attention.
Having no wish to rile anyone, especially Daniella Falconetti, it relieved him to note she wasn’t in the lobby. Will Rogers had said something to the effect that everything is funny—when it happens to someone else. A family joke was that Tristan was a changeling, switched at birth. His siblings were all dark haired and blue eyed; none were anywhere close to his size. It would tickle them all no end to learn he resembled a jailbird.
Not that it amused him.
He sauntered into the lobby, but kept his hat pulled down low, just in case. He took a seat in the lounge, his back to the lady in purple.