The Texan's Future Bride

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  But they weren’t, she told herself. This was a pleasure-only affair. No heartstrings, no commitment, no ties. J.D. wasn’t hers to keep.

  And he never would be.

  Chapter Eight

  J.D. couldn’t keep his eyes off Jenna. He wanted to devour her in every way imaginable. The experience was so new, so exciting.

  He said, “Have you ever heard someone say that sex is overrated? Well, that’s not true. Not when it makes you feel this way.”

  In lieu of a response, she wrapped her legs around him, and the experience got better and better.

  He glanced down at her, intrigued by the sinuous manner in which she moved. Her skin was creamy and smooth, soft and fair and so unlike his. The wonderment was almost too much to bear, but she seemed as fascinated by him as he was by her.

  She said, “I’m so glad you remembered something about yourself tonight.”

  “At least I know that I’m from Texas.”

  “Not only are you from here, you have a connection to Sam Houston. That makes the yellow rose you gave me even more special.”

  “Next time it will be a real flower. I’d give you hundreds of roses if I could.”

  “I always imagined rose petals on my honeymoon. All over the bed.”

  “Don’t put fantasies like that in my head.”

  “You’re not interested in marriage, J.D.”

  “No, but I like the flower-petals idea. It sounds sexy.”

  “And romantic.”

  “That, too.” He covered her mouth with his. He also slipped his hand between them and heightened her pleasure.

  Heat. Beautiful urgency.

  He ached to give her a release, to shower her with everything she needed, everything she desired. They weren’t a couple, nor were they on their way to becoming one, but for now they belonged to each other, and that was an aphrodisiac neither of them could deny.

  Enthralled, he watched her, and with carnality bursting at the seams, she shuddered and climaxed. Unable to hold back, he lost himself in the passion, too.

  Spent, he fell into her arms and stayed there for a while, allowing her to bask in the afterglow. She nuzzled his chest, her hair tickling his skin. In a deliberate show of affection, he skimmed a hand down her spine.

  After they broke apart, he went into the bathroom to dispose of the condom.

  He returned to find her sitting up in bed, with the quilt tucked around her. She looked sweetly tousled. Well-loved.

  No! Not loved. He frowned at the mind slip. Making love wasn’t love. In this case, it was miles apart.

  Before she noticed his unease, he softened his expression and approached her. “Do you want a cup of tea? They have the herbal stuff.”

  “That sounds good.”

  He used the coffeepot to heat the water. He didn’t brew himself any. He didn’t drink hot tea. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he’d offered some to her. Was it to keep his mind in check? Or was there someone from his past who favored tea? He honestly didn’t know. In spite of his Sam Houston breakthrough, the bulk of his memories remained blocked.

  “Cream and sugar?” he asked.

  “Sugar. One packet.”

  He fixed the drink and brought it to her. “It’s chamomile. It’s supposed to be soothing.”

  She took the cup and tasted the fragrant brew. “It’s just right. Thank you.”

  He sat beside her, his thoughts drifting back to the flower conversation, as well as to something she’d previously said. “You told me that you haven’t planned any of your wedding details. But you have.”

  “The rose petals on the bed? I saw that in a movie, and it appealed to me. But we shouldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be right for our affair.”

  Because it would make their affair seem like a honeymoon? “I agree that we shouldn’t.”

  She made a perplexed expression. “Funny, how we’re always talking about what we shouldn’t do.”

  “That’s because we’re being noncommittal.”

  She nodded, then clutched the tea with both hands, as if she needed an extra dose of warmth. Was she thinking about the man she was destined to marry and wishing he was here instead? Or was J.D. the only man on her mind?

  Either way, he said, “If you want to snuggle, I can hold you tonight while you sleep.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She leaned against his shoulder. “I like to spoon.”

  “Me, too. I think.” He tossed out a smile. “I can’t remember. But I’m sure I’ll like it with you.”

  Soon they settled in for sleep, extinguishing the lamp and taking the aforementioned spooning position, with the front of his body pressed against the back of hers. He slipped an arm around her waist, creating a cozier connection.

  She sighed, the feathery sound proof of her contentment. Grateful that she was satisfied, J.D. whispered a gentle, “Good night.”

  “You, too,” she responded, using an equally soft voice. She tugged at the covers, getting more comfortable.

  Although he closed his eyes, he wasn’t able to sleep, at least not right away. He could tell when Jenna drifted off, though, mostly by the change in her breathing. Her limbs seemed looser, too.

  Finally he joined her, and in the morning, he awakened before she did. With dawn peeking through a space in the drapes, he sat up and gazed at his lover.

  Such delicate repose, he thought, tempted to touch her. But he kept his hands at his sides. He didn’t want to rouse her. He wanted to see her while she was unable to see him. He realized that it was his way of shielding his confused self from her, of continuing to hide behind his amnesia.

  And taking an odd sort of comfort in it.

  * * *

  As Jenna awoke, she sensed that she was being watched. She squinted, struggling to get her bearings. Then she saw J.D. sitting next to her, the sheet draped around his waist, his dark gazed fixed on hers.

  “Morning,” he said, skimming his thumb along her cheek, as if he’d been waiting all morning to do that.

  “Hi,” she replied quickly, reminding herself not to get attached. Thing was, she wanted to grab him and never let go. But what woman wouldn’t feel that way, considering how affectionate he was?

  He took his hand away. “You still look sleepy.”

  She sat up and clutched her portion of the sheet, shielding her nakedness, more out of caution than shyness. “I suppose I am. What time is it?” She couldn’t see the clock from her side of the bed.

  “A little after six.”

  “Dang. I hadn’t planned on getting up this early. We’re keeping rancher’s hours, even on a road trip. But I guess it stands to reason, considering we live on a ranch.”

  “I don’t live at the Flying B, Jenna.”

  “You live there for now.” Everything was temporary: his job, his living arrangements, their affair.

  “You’re right. I do.” He leaned closer. “Can I kiss you? Or is it too early for that?”

  Her pulse spiked. “It’s never too early for a kiss.”

  He reached for her, and she released the sheet, allowing it to fall to her waist. Their mouths met and mated, and she slipped deeper into the moment.

  There was no denying it; she was getting attached. But she would do her darnedest to cope with his departure when the time came.

  Sweet and tender, the kiss continued. J.D. had a way of making her feel special, even if it wasn’t meant to last.

  He pushed the sheet completely away, making it easier to roll over the bed and take her with him. She landed on top, and he smiled. He obviously wanted to make love in this position.

  But so did Jenna. She desired him in all sorts of ways. Her heart pounded from the want, the need, the anticipation.

  He secured a condom, and the shiny packet gli
ttered. He opened it and concentrated on his task. She suspected that they were going to go through the protection quickly.

  “I’m glad we have more of those back at the ranch,” she said.

  He glanced up and smiled again, a bit more devilish this time. “That’s for sure. Now let’s get you seated, nice and tight.”

  He circled her waist, giving her a boost while she straddled him. She impaled herself, and the sensation nearly knocked her for a loop.

  With a powerful grip, he lifted her up and down, setting a rocking horse rhythm. “You look like a cowgirl.”

  She latched on to his shoulders, mesmerized by his broad strength. “I feel like one, too.”

  “We’re good together.” He kept her within his grasp. “And it’s good that there aren’t any future worries between us.”

  “You mean no plans to stay in touch after you leave?” No phone calls, emails, texts, she thought.

  He nodded, morning shadows playing against his skin. “You’re still okay with that, right?”

  “Yes.” She was determined to accept it, the best she could. After he was gone, she would accept the blessing of having known him and move on with her life. “All I want right now is to make this happen.”

  He kissed her hard and rough. “Then do it. Make it happen.”

  Quickening the pace, she rode him with every ounce of hunger she had, bucking wildly, and leaving them both breathless when it was over.

  * * *

  J.D. took a minute to collect his thoughts, then he said to Jenna, “You blow me away.”

  “Likewise. Sex with you packs a punch.” She climbed off his lap and sagged like a rag doll.

  “Relax and I’ll be right back.” He got rid of the condom and returned to her. “Do you want me go to the diner and get some breakfast?”

  “Sure. I’ll shower while you’re gone.”

  “I need to shower, too, and shave. But I left my bag in the other room.”

  “You can do that before you get breakfast. It will probably take me longer to get ready than you, anyway.”

  “Women and their hair and makeup.” He twined his fingers around her golden locks. “I like you the way you are.”

  “Messy from going cowgirl?”

  “Definitely.” He noticed that her mouth was swollen from his kisses. Talk about hot. And sinful. And beautiful.

  After a beat of soul-stirring silence, she pushed at his chest. “You better go. Before we end up ravishing each other again.”

  “Good thinking. Or else we’ll never leave this bed.”

  “They’d find us, dead from exhaustion.”

  He laughed. “With a plastic rose and a box of condoms beside us. How embarrassing would that be?”

  She laughed, too. “Proof that we need to control ourselves.”

  “And eat and be normal?” He climbed into his rumbled clothes. “What should I bring back for you?”

  “Ham and eggs, with any kind of toast. It doesn’t matter.”

  “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Scrambled is fine.”

  He gave her a quick kiss, but it didn’t satisfy the urges stirring inside him. He wanted to linger, to get his second wind, even after the jokes they’d made.

  He headed for the door instead. He was too damned eager to have her again. But what did he expect? He couldn’t remember being with anyone but Jenna.

  He glanced back and saw that she was watching him. She even chewed her swollen lips, pulling the bottom one between her teeth. Neither of them had the affair down pat. She seemed overwhelmed, too, and possibly on the verge of telling him to forget breakfast and come back to her.

  But she didn’t give in. And neither did J.D.

  He went to his room, and after he showered, shaved and donned clean jeans and a fresh shirt, he walked to the diner and ordered their meals.

  Food in hand, he returned to Jenna and noticed that the door was ajar. She’d obviously left it that way for him. He entered the room. She was fully dressed, crisp and pretty in a Western blouse and jeans, with her hair in a ponytail.

  “That’s a good look on you,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  The certified riding instructor, he thought. She definitely fit the part. The whole purpose of this trip was to shop for lesson horses, not have lust-burning sex.

  He put the food on the dining table, which was positioned by the window and equipped with two padded chairs. “Okay if I open the drapes and let more light in?”

  “Oh, of course. I meant to do that.” She glanced at the takeout containers. “Which one is mine?”

  “They’re both the same. Ham and eggs was the special, with home-fried potatoes. I got wheat toast and lots of jelly to go with it. Ketchup and salt and pepper, too.”

  “I made coffee while you were gone. Do you want a cup?”

  “Sure.” He could use some caffeine. “Did you drink yours already?”

  “No. I was waiting for you to come back.” She poured two cups and set them on the table, along with the little basket that contained powdered creamer, sugar and the accompanying stir sticks.

  They sat across from each other and fixed their coffee. Next, they opened the plastic utensils he’d gotten from the diner and doctored their meals. He squeezed ketchup on his eggs, and she used it on her potatoes. Both were generous with the pepper and light on the salt. She favored the grape jelly, and he went to town on the strawberry.

  Would this be considered post-sex compatibility? No, he thought. Not quite.

  She took deliberately small bites. She wasn’t as ravenous as she’d been at dinner last night. Either that or she was trying to behave properly. He was, too, still mindful of his hunger for her.

  She lifted her coffee and studied him from beneath the rim of her cup. “I wonder if you know any other Cherokee words besides Sam Houston’s Raven name.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose. Who knows what’s locked inside my brain? But I should probably count my blessings that I remember how to speak English, let alone my ancestor’s language.”

  “My ancestors are from Sweden. On my mom’s side. The Byrds are Texans, through and through, but they originated from England, with a little gypsy tossed in. I didn’t know about the gypsy part until Tex told us about our great-grandmother and the feather bed.”

  “It was foolish of me not believe in your great-grandmother’s magic when you first mentioned it to me. The Cherokee believe in magic, in dreams, in visions. It’s part of my culture, too. A medicine man is a called di da nv wi s gi, and it means ‘curer of them.’”

  “So you do know more Cherokee words.”

  “Well, damn. Listen to me.” He grinned, stunned and pleased that it came so easily. “I guess I do.”

  She reached across the table to touch his hand. “It’s nice to see you looking so happy.”

  “It’s nice for me, too.” And so was her caring touch.

  “You know what, J.D.? I don’t think you were a foster child. I think someone in your family taught you about your culture, and I think you were surrounded by it.”

  “You could be right. If I was a foster kid, I would probably be missing the Cherokee side of myself instead of recalling it in such a positive way.”

  As their hands drifted apart, she said, “It’s still odd, though, that you seem to have knowledge of the foster-care system and how the older kids rarely get adopted.”

  “Maybe I knew someone else who grew up in that world.”

  “Someone who must have been important to you.”

  The tea drinker, perhaps? If there was such a person. “I don’t know. It’s all a bit weird. If I had a family, parents who nurtured me, maybe even brothers and sisters, then why do I get the sense of not having anyone in my life?”

 
“Maybe you just haven’t remembered them yet.”

  “Or maybe something went wrong with my relationship with them. Maybe they turned away from me or I turned away from them. The positive connection I feel to my heritage doesn’t mean that other aspects of my life aren’t screwed up. Maybe I’m holding on to my heritage so tightly because it’s all I have.”

  “I agree that there’s something going on with your family. Otherwise you probably wouldn’t be advising me to vote in favor of finding Savannah and the child she might have had. And you wouldn’t be trying to encourage me to give my father a chance.”

  “Are you having a change of heart? Are you going to take my advice?”

  “I’m considering the vote.”

  “But not squaring things with your dad? Sleeping with his brother’s girlfriend was a lousy thing to do. But judging him without hearing his side of the story isn’t fair, either.”

  “There’s nothing he could say that would make me feel okay about what he did.”

  “Then forgive him to lessen the burden on yourself.”

  “I wish I could, but I can’t.” She moved a forkful of eggs around, mixing them with her potatoes. “If only my mom was still alive. I would talk to her about this if I could.” She paused, apparently considering how the conversation would go. “If she were here, I think she would tell me to stay away from Dad and just let him be.”

  “Why do you think she would say that?”

  “Because she never pushed Donna to open up. She accepted that my sister was distant, like Dad in that regard.”

  Curious, he asked, “Does Donna favor him in her appearance, too? Because I envision that you look more like your mom. And since you and Donna don’t really resemble each other, I figure each of you took after a different parent.”

  “You got that right. I’m my mother’s daughter.”

  He hadn’t meant to imply that she didn’t have anything in common with her father. “What does your dad think about you and Donna turning the ranch into a

  B and B?”

  “He hasn’t given us his opinion. But we don’t want him butting into our business or trying to talk to us.”