“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He murmured against her neck, his entire body quivering with the effort it took to hold himself still while she tried to accommodate him.
“Go ahead,” she whispered, stroking his back, willing him to take his pleasure since her own was forfeit.
But when he began to move, her tension made him uncomfortable, hampering his own release and thus prolonging her distress. When he finally collapsed on top of her, they were both drenched in sweat, and Roni couldn’t prevent the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes from sliding to her temples.
He withdrew quickly. “Aw, hell, Roni, you didn’t... Here, let me help.” He stroked her between her legs.
“No!” She caught his hand, staying him. “That’s not necessary.”
“Oh.” Even in the dark, she could sense the fiery chagrin in his expression.
Roni shut her eyes miserably, knowing that she’d truly offended him by her involuntary rejection. “I—I’m a little tender right now. Could—could you just hold me awhile?”
“Sure.” His voice was stiff, but his arms were sure, cuddling her spoon-fashion. The kiss he pressed to the curve of her neck seemed more than she deserved after such a disaster.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice an ache.
His arms tightened around her. “Cut it out, Curly. I’m the one who let you down.”
“No, it was me—”
“Look, we’re not kids. You and I understand this kind of thing gets better with practice. We both wanted to know, and now we do. The worst is over, and we survived. Now get some sleep.”
“Yes, Sam.”
There was some comfort in his arms, but his brusque and businesslike dismissal of their earth-shattering experience chilled her. The intimacy she’d hoped for was missing, and she felt empty, cheated somehow, and that was a sharper disappointment than her failure to achieve the ultimate climactic peak. Was this all that a marriage between friends was destined to be?
In her raw and confused emotional state sleep evaded her, and when she finally slept, her dreams were fitful. She roused in the wee hours to find Sam standing naked before the window, gazing out over his rangelands. She rolled over, feigning sleep, her soul shriveling at the bitter regret in his single, softly spoken utterance.
“Damn.”
* * *
It was a mistake, pure and simple, and Roni knew it. She and Sam had crossed a line they had no business crossing, and now things were awkward and horrible and worse than ever. And she had no idea how to fix it.
“Roni, are you listening to me?”
Roni turned away from the kitchen window and her studied perusal of the trio of miniature ruby-throated dive bombers hurtling past Krystal’s cherry-red hummingbird feeder at the speed of light. “Sure I am. What did you say?”
“I asked if you wanted more coffee. Man, you’re out in left field this morning.” Krystal refilled Roni’s mug without waiting for an answer, tilting her blond head and giving her friend a close look. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course it is.” Roni took the cup and sipped coffee she didn’t want, automatically checking Jessie’s progress through a pile of toys situated in the middle of Krystal’s comfortably furnished den. “Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Then you’ve got your head in the clouds today because things are going so well between you and Sam?”
Roni forced a tight smile. “I guess that’s it.”
“Yeah, and I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn I’d like to sell you.” Clad in shorts and sandals, Krystal shooed Roni toward the sofa and plopped down on the other end. “Come on, the boys will be out of school for the summer in a day or two, and I won’t have time to play Mother Confessor, so spit it out.”
“Really, Krys.” Roni laughed as she settled Indian-fashion on the couch, tucking up the gauzy crinkle skirt that matched her orange tank top. She’d pulled her hair into a French braid, and Shoshone dream catcher earrings dangled to her shoulders. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“What are you fighting about? Religion? Money?”
“We’re not fighting.”
“Then it must be about sex.”
Roni felt her face go crimson. “Krystal!”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Triumph sparkled in her mischievous expression. “Hooee. That’s a good one. What? Does he want you to swing naked from the chandelier?”
Roni buried her face in her hand. “I don’t know why I try to have an intelligent conversation with you. And we don’t even have a chandelier.”
Krystal made a negligent gesture. “A minor detail. All right, sister, spill it.”
Roni gave an inward groan. How could she tell Krystal that her husband equated their first and only sexual encounter as “the worst?” That on arising from the bed in which they’d finally consummated their marriage, they could barely stand to look at each other, so great was their mutual embarrassment. That Sam had been in such a hurry to get away from her, he’d hightailed it out at the crack of dawn to deliver his bulls without even breakfast. And Roni was so chagrined, the thought of staying in the house while Steve Cutler’s crew finished their work had just been too much, so she’d run like a coward to hide out at Krystal’s. Uh-uh. Some things were just too humiliating to share.
But Krystal would wart Roni unmercifully unless she got some answers. Roni decided a diversionary tactic was in order. She set her cup aside. “Since you must know, we had a bit of a disagreement about my paying for the plumbing.”
“Aha, I see. Got him in the wallet. Men can be so stupid about money.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Roni sighed. Jessie crawled to the sofa, pulling up on the edge and demanding attention. Lifting her daughter up beside her, Roni handed the child one of the boy’s plastic trucks to examine. “I hurt his pride, I guess, but I’m living in that house, and I had the funds to spend, so—”
“Makes no never-you-mind,” Krystal said with a shake of her head. “Man like Sam Preston, you’re practically attacking his manhood to offer him financial help.”
“He’s stubborn about it, all right.” Roni’s mouth drooped. “The big truck rig died for good, and things are really tight right now.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that Sam’s afraid if he doesn’t land that rodeo contact with Buzz Henry, the Lazy Diamond may not make it.”
Krystal frowned. “Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that! But he’s got assets. He could sell off some of his stock, or a parcel of land, couldn’t he?”
“It would just about kill him, I think.”
Krystal let her head drop onto the back of the sofa and groaned. “Oh, these male egos.”
“You said it. He had the opportunity to go in with Travis King, which would give him a better chance of landing the contract, but he wouldn’t even consider it.”
“Wouldn’t be such a bad deal for Travis, either,” Krystal commented, reaching over to give Jessie’s tummy a quick tickle and eliciting a giggle from the baby. “From what Bud says, he’d better get out of rodeoing before it kills him.”
“I wish there was some way I could convince Sam to give it a try,” Roni said.
Krystal twinkled at her. “There’s always that chandelier.”
Roni burst out laughing just as the phone rang. Grinning, Krystal went to answer it. Jessie gave her new mother a curious look, then clapped her hands and laughed, too.
But Roni’s chuckles at Krystal’s ribald suggestion contained a note of ironic pain. Krystal might think Roni had some influence over Sam in the bedroom department, but Roni knew better, and the blow to her own feminine ego was devastating. How could she face Sam again? Would he expect them to go back to the way it had been? She couldn’t blame him in the least. Mortification made her feel like running away, but the little girl drooling all over a truck wheel was a firm reminder of where her duty lay.
“Yes, she’s here.” Krystal’s voice carried from the phone in the kitchen. “What? Yes, I’ll tell her.”
<
br /> Krystal’s expression as she hurried back into the den shot a bolt of alarm straight up Roni’s spine. “What’s the matter? Who was it?”
“Angel.” Krystal plucked Jessie up and cuddled her protectively. “You’ve got to get to the emergency room right away. Sam’s been hurt.”
* * *
“Ouch!”
“Don’t give me that.” Dr. Hazelton tied another knot in the line of stitches across Sam’s shoulder blade. “I shot you so full of Xylocaine, I know you can’t feel a thing.”
“That’s what you think.” Lying facedown on the emergency room gurney, Sam grimaced, instantly regretting it as the swelling on the side of his face protested. The tattered remnants of his blood-stained work shirt lay draped over the end of the gurney.
“Just hold still,” the doctor ordered, reaching for the scissors his nurse held. “I’m nearly finished.”
Sam subsided, gnashing his teeth and cursing under his breath. His whole world was going to hell in a handbasket, and now this had to happen! It was his own blamed fault, though, woolgathering about Roni when he should have been paying attention to a ton and a half of bad-tempered beef on the hoof. It could have been a lot worse than being slammed into the side of a catch pen and hooked by the tip of a horn as he dodged. Served him right for being such a fool.
He still couldn’t believe the fiasco he’d made bedding his own wife. While he’d never claimed to be the best lover in the world, he’d had few complaints...until last night. Not that Roni had complained, or even resisted. No, she’d been generous and sweet and trying oh so hard, and all he’d done for her was make her cry. Sam groaned at the memory.
“You aren’t getting any sympathy from me with this act,” Dr. Hazelton assured him.
“Aren’t you done yet, you old quack?”
“I’d watch my mouth if I were you, sonny.” The physician snipped the final knot. “There you go, and as fine a piece of needlework as you’re ever going to see, too. Don’t even expect it to leave a scar on that tough hide of yours, which ought to please your pretty wife.”
“Thanks, Doc. No offense,” Sam grunted.
“None taken, son.” The doctor waved to the nurse. “You can put the dressing on for me, Audrey.”
The gray-haired nurse nodded cheerfully. “Sure thing, Doc.”
“Where is he? Let me see him!” The door flew open, and Roni stumbled into the room in a swish of Gypsy skirts, the light in her eyes wild. She was followed by the stocky figure of Angel Morales, his straw hat clenched in his thick hands. At the sight of the crimson-drenched shirt, the raw stitches, Sam’s prone figure and puffy, soon-to-be black eye, Roni froze, horror washing the color from her cheeks. “Oh my God.”
“Now, it’s not as bad as it looks, Veronica,” Dr. Hazelton said hastily.
“Oh my God!” she repeated.
“Curly, I’m all right.” Wincing, Sam levered himself to a seated position.
“What did they do to you?” she asked in a thin voice, then swayed so violently, everyone in the room jumped to keep her from falling. Pandemonium reigned for a few seconds as the nurse pushed a stool under her and the doctor forced her head between her knees.
“Breathe through your nose, Veronica. You’ll be fine.” Dr. Hazelton looked up at Sam with a wry twinkle behind his glasses. “Light-headed, huh? You got this gal in the family way already, my friend?”
Bending helplessly over his wife, Sam felt his face heat. “Uh—”
“No!” Roni’s voice was muffled by her skirts. She sat up, breathing shallowly. “That’s not it. I’ll be all right in a minute. It was just the shock.”
“That old bull just banged him up a bit, honey,” the doctor reassured her. “Measly seven stitches. Hardly worth all the fuss.”
Sam shot his middle-aged foreman a hard look. “I told Angel not to bother you.”
With a half-apologetic grin creasing his swarthy face, Angel shrugged off Sam’s displeasure, but Roni stiffened, the wildness flaring in her eyes again and her voice rising.
“And why shouldn’t he have called me? I’m your wife.”
After what had happened between them, Sam didn’t know how to take that statement. Luckily, Dr. Hazelton filled the void.
“And you’re just the one to take this man home and see that he gets a little T.L.C. for the rest of the day,” he said heartily. “Audrey?”
The nurse tugged Sam back to the gurney and swiftly applied the bandages. Sam’s expression was mulish.
“I’ve got too much to do—ow!” He glared as the doctor withdrew a hypodermic needle from his arm. “What the hell was that for?”
“Tetanus. And a little something to take the edge off. You’re going to start hurting like the devil pretty soon.” Dr. Hazelton handed Roni several sample bottles. “Give him a couple of these for pain. Make him rest and drink plenty of fluids. He lost a good bit of blood.”
She picked up the torn, bloody shirt, her fingers working in the fabric, but her skin was no longer as pasty, and she looked more herself. “Yes, Doc.”
Irritated, embarrassed, Sam clenched his jaw and stood. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Shut up, Sam.” Roni took his arm, and her expression brooked no opposition. “For once in your life, you’re going to do exactly as you’re told.”
* * *
Roni poured grain into Diablo’s feed bin, stroked the stallion’s nose, then turned on the spigot to fill the bathtub-size galvanized water trough. As the water poured out of the faucet, she perched her arms on the top boards of the corral and propped her chin on them, watching the sunset explode into a panorama of tangerine and gold.
She’d been on autopilot since getting the phone call from Angel, arranging for Krystal to keep Jessie for the night, hurrying to the hospital and then driving her very ill-tempered patient home. The injection Dr. Hazelton had given Sam had made him drowsy, and he’d slept away the afternoon, which was just as well, considering his grumpiness, Roni reflected. Angel and the crew were off finishing the delivery of the other bulls, and the barn and yards were deserted.
At least the plumbers had finished. Cleaning up after them had kept her busy when she wasn’t checking on Sam, but she’d welcomed the activity. She’d even started an elaborate supper and was tending to the evening chores that Sam normally performed—anything to keep her thoughts occupied. Only now, while she waited for the water to fill the horse trough, she was forced to stop, to wait, to look into her deepest self and to acknowledge the truth that she’d kept at bay through sheer force of will until this moment.
I could have lost him. A tremor of fear and pain shook her, closed her throat with grief and despair. And he’d never have known how much I love him.
Roni placed her forehead on her arms and let the tears fall. The moment she’d seen Sam in the emergency room, bloody and battered, the truth smacked her in the face and opened her eyes. Yes, she’d adored Jessie from the minute she saw her and wanted to make a home for her, but the real reason Roni had married Sam Preston was that she was in love with him—madly, passionately, eternally—and probably had been for a very long time. Only, that certainly wasn’t what Sam had bargained for. Talk about false pretenses.
No wonder she’d been jealous of the likes of Nadine Scott. Perhaps even her relationship with Jackson had been tainted because she’d judged every man she’d ever known by Sam’s standard. But now, even though she found herself married to the man she adored, he only saw her as a good friend and a competent helpmate. And after last night’s disaster, he probably would never desire her as a bed companion again. Feeling helpless and hopeless, she sobbed against her forearm.
“Jeez, Curly, don’t do this.” Sam’s sleep-roughed voice was low in her ear, and his warm hands closed about her shoulders.
With a gasp, she whirled to face him, making her skirt swirl around her calves, scrubbing at the moisture trailing down her cheeks in embarrassment. “You—you shouldn’t be up.”
He tucked his hands
into his front jeans pockets, inspecting her with a hooded expression. His clean chambray shirt hung open down the front, revealing a tanned slash of hair-dusted chest, and his cheekbone was swollen and bruised. “I’m okay.”
“You need another pain pill? How about something to eat?” She was already moving past him, but he clamped a hand down on her shoulder, stopping her.
“No, I don’t need anything—except to know why you’re crying.”
Alarmed, uncertain, she looked anywhere but at him. “It’s nothing. I’m just silly...I’ve got to check dinner.”
“I see.” He dropped his hand. The slanted rays of the sun caught the highlights of his hair. “Well, you don’t have to fret. I won’t bother you again.”
Her voice was a whisper of disbelief. “What?”
“It couldn’t have been clearer how unpleasant last night was for you, Curly. And now...” He indicated her tear-streaked features with a brief wave. “Hell, I’m not going to force anything on you that you find that awful. And it kills me to see you cry. So you can quit worrying—”
She finally found her voice. “Is that what you think? You thick-headed puncher, how can you be so—so obtuse?”
“Well, what else?”
“You could have been killed today,” she raged, fists clenching. Then she choked, and fresh tears spilled from her lashes. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life!”
“Oh, honey...” Sam’s features twisted, and he reached for her. Then she was in his arms, clinging to his neck and weeping into his shirtfront.
“I couldn’t bear to lose you, Sam,” she sobbed.
“Hey, it’s just a little scratch.”
“You don’t understand.” Her voice was broken. “How can you not know?”
He threaded soothing fingers through the hair at her temple, tilting her face up to his. “Know what?”
“That I’m crazy in love with you.”
Stunned, his eyes widened. “Holy Jehoshaphat.”
“I can’t help it, Sam. I’m sorry. I know you don’t want it, didn’t expect it, but there aren’t any strings. I just want to be with you.”
His voice was rough. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The Rancher and the Redhead Page 11