by Sandy James
Having no choice, he herded the rest of the mares and stopped them in a clearing near the river bank. His heart pounded a rough rhythm as he waited for her to return. Pictures of the horrible things that could be happening played over and over in his mind. As he tried to calm his thoughts, he scanned the banks of the river, wondering if he should simply ride out to catch her. Minutes seemed to pass as hours.
Then something floated down the middle of the tumbling river.
Victoria’s hat.
“Damn it!”
Reining his horse around, he dug his heels into the animal’s sides, riding hard to try to save her.
“Damn it!”
Shouting the same curse over and over, he leaned forward, urging his stallion on. He scanned each log, each piece of debris floating along with the river, fearing Victoria would be clinging to one of them.
From the distance, he saw her—on the correct side of the swollen river—still on her horse and leading the runaway mare with a lasso. Both woman and horses looked utterly undisturbed by their ordeal.
He, on the other hand, felt as if someone had given him a sound beating.
“Damn it, Victoria! I was worried sick. You shouldn’t have gone after that damned mare!”
She rode like a queen, back as straight as an arrow. “Nonsense.” Her voice held an air of condescension that fired Matthew’s temper even hotter. “She’s the best of the pack. I didn’t want to lose her.”
He slapped his hat against his thigh. “What were you thinking? You could’ve broken your fool neck.”
“Chasing a mare for a country mile? Doubt it. Why’d you leave the rest of the horses?”
“Your hat floated by.”
“Did you grab it?”
All he could do for a moment was blink at her audacity. “Are you daft, woman?”
She shook her head as she paraded right past him, leading the now docile runaway. “The least you could’ve done was caught it.”
Sin reacted to the nearness of the strange mare, snorting and rearing. Matthew dropped his hat and tried to rein in the stubborn animal. The horse backed up until his rear legs sank in the soft, wet dirt. Before he knew what was happening, Matthew found himself flipping off the end of the saddle and onto his back, sliding down the steep bank of the river. He hit the water with an enormous splash.
Her laughter rose above the sound of the river.
He sat in the shallows and spit out the water that had rushed into his mouth as though he was some stone cherub in a fancy fountain.
Victoria dismounted, still laughing hard enough she finally leaned against her horse. “You should see... You’re covered in...” She turned to face her horse’s neck, griping the animal’s mane and laughing hard enough her whole body shook.
Dredging his way back up the slippery slope, he thought of how she’d demanded he treat her like any other cowboy.
If that’s what the lady wants, that’s what the lady is damn well gonna get.
As he neared the summit, he grabbed the waistband of her pants and jerked.
Victoria sprawled on her backside in the mud and slid down the same bank he’d just crawled up. She squealed all the way down.
He stood on the edge, looked down at her, and laughed. Then he picked up his soaked hat and slapped it on his head.
Sitting in the shallow of the river, she spit out water. “How could you?”
“You laughed at me.”
She smacked the water on either side of her. “That’s why you did this to me?”
He grinned. “Told me to treat you like any other cowboy, didn’t you?”
A dark eyebrow rose in question.
“Had a cowboy laughed at me, that’s exactly what I would’ve done to him.” He held out a hand. “Let me help you up.”
She crept back up the steep bank, almost reaching the summit before her foot slipped and she found herself face first in the mud. Sputtering, she tried to wipe away the thick layer of dirt covering her face.
“Look at you. A pig in a mudhole.” He reached for her again. “Enough fooling around. Give me your hand.”
Through the mud caked on her face, she frowned. “Fine. Here’s my hand.”
He clasped her outstretched fingers, but before he could haul her the rest of the way up the bank, her frown changed to a sly smile. She gave him a good yank, sending them both tumbling back down the muddy slope.
As they landed at the bottom, Matthew found Victoria sprawled next to him, still chuckling.
The urge to shout made his throat burn until her happiness slowly infected him. The humor of the situation washed over him the same way as the water.
He wrapped his arms around her, rolling her to straddle him. “Dirty trick.”
Her smile could charm the anger out of a raging buffalo. “Very dirty.”
He smoothed some of the mud away from her cheeks. First one, then the other, letting his fingertips caress her skin. “You’re a mess.”
She mimicked his touch, her cool fingers rubbing the mud from his face. “So are you.”
He couldn’t stop himself from kissing her. The moan from deep in her throat when he thrust his tongue into her mouth told him she liked it.
Had the water not been so damned cold, he would have been content to ravage that sweet mouth for the rest of the day. When she pulled away, her teeth started to chatter, and their connection was lost. He began to fear that was all there would ever be between them—tender moments stolen, enjoyed, and rapidly gone.
But never forgotten.
They awkwardly rose, crawled back up the slope, and rounded up their horses. As she mounted, she threw him a saucy smirk. “You really should have grabbed my hat. It was my favorite.”
The woman had grit.
The sun was now low on the horizon. “We lost too much time,” he said. “Probably have to camp again for the night.”
She sighed. “I figured. Can’t be driving those mares in the dark.” She flicked some mud from her hand. “I’ve gotta get this stuff off me anyway. Sweet Lord, I must look a mess.”
Mud bath or not, she was still beautiful. Her clothes were plastered to her body, revealing such luscious curves it took all his control not to ride up next to her and drag her from her saddle onto his lap. Then he’d kiss her again just to get her riled up.
God, how he loved her sass.
“You look fine.” A dollop of mud fell from his chin. “I think we better find a nice lake to clean up in.”
“I know just the place.” She clucked at her mare, took off toward the meadow at a canter, and prodded the waiting horses into motion.
***
“Potatoes?” Grace asked over her shoulder.
“Please.” Adam pulled out a stool and sat down next to Will at the kitchen table.
Since Grace had come to the Four Aces, Adam took all his meals there. The ranch was quiet and lonely since she’d left.
Besides, the tension between her and Jake remained taut enough to worry him. By riding into town, he could keep an eye on them both.
Will sniffed the wonderful scents and grinned. Then he turned to Adam and tossed him a fierce frown. “Sure we can’t postpone that wedding of yours? Just a year or two?”
Grace smiled as she set the plate full of food in front of him.
He smiled back. “Sorry, friend. Just don’t see that happening. I want to get her home.”
“Home.” Her whisper was as reverent as a person seeing a cathedral for the first time.
“Home. With your husband.”
She squeezed his shoulder. His hand covered hers and gave it a pat. A wistful look crossed her face before she bowed her head and returned to the stove.
Emily and Jake came into the kitchen, and he pulled out a chair for his wife.
“Everything smells wonderful, Grace,” Emily said, lowering her burdened body onto the chair.
“I’ll get you both a plate ready.” Grace grabbed two empty dishes from the stack next to the stove.
Jake frowned at her, and Adam wasn’t sure exactly what was flying through the young man’s mind. As she set their dinners in front of the couple, Jake’s scowl grew fiercer.
“Thank you.” Emily smiled up at Grace.
Jake remained silent.
A lesson in manners was past due.
Adam arched an eyebrow at his adopted son. “You got something to say to Grace for that fine meal?”
Jake just grunted.
Emily slapped his upper arm. “She’s your sister. Be polite.”
“She ain’t my sister!” He jumped up and pushed his chair back hard enough it toppled over. “Why you people insist—”
“Stop it!” Grace slammed her own plate down on the table where she was about to take a seat next to Adam. “Let him be. You can’t make him accept me.” She turned and tried to step away, but Adam grabbed her wrist.
“Wait.” He leveled a hard stare at Jake. “I think it’s past time to put all our cards on the table.”
“I don’t want to put—”
“I don’t particularly care what you want right now.” Adam wrapped an arm around his fiancée’s shoulder. “The tension in here is thicker than molasses, and it’s hurting Grace.”
“I tried to make peace with her,” Jake said.
“Bullshit,” Will replied. “You’ve avoided the woman at every turn. She didn’t kill your parents, boy.”
“I know that!” he snapped back.
Will smacked his palm on the table. “Then why ain’t you even talked to her?”
“I can’t!” His breaths came so hard, his nostrils flared with each exhale. He was finally losing the control he’d held for so long. The words tumbled from him in a shout. “Ever since I met her, I can’t stop rememberin’. Every time I see her, I see what happened to them. I see them, lyin’ there on the grass. Dead!”
“Oh, Jake.” Emily laid a hand on his arm. “It’s past time to let go of that grief. Grace would’ve come for you if she’d known. Right, Grace?”
Grace had been twisting her hands in her lap until Adam placed his hand over hers. A tear slipped down her cheek as she nodded.
The frown stayed fixed on Jake’s face. “But—”
A loud whack echoed through the kitchen when Will swatted the back of Jake’s head. “You’ve got a mighty thick skull, boy. Grace never did you no harm. She wanted you to have a family. Hell, she was only fifteen, nothing but a damn kid herself. It ain’t as if she was your mama. She didn’t know about mothering, so she got you a mother. You should be grateful.”
“I know that.” Jake rubbed his head and scowled at his father-in-law.
“Then you need to forgive her,” Adam said.
A whisper rose from Grace. “He needs to forgive himself first.”
The woman was sharp—sharper than all the rest of them. Adam had never considered Jake blaming himself for his adoptive parents’ deaths. But Grace knew—probably because she’d faced loss herself when her mother died and when she’d had to leave Jake behind.
Adam squeezed her fingers. “You’re right, darlin’.” He turned back to Jake. “You were a little boy. You couldn’t have stopped those bandits—”
“I hid! I hid in the barn like a damned coward!”
Grace was the one who went to Jake. She stopped in front of him and clenched her hands together. “You are not a coward. You did what your parents asked, didn’t you? They told you to hide so you’d be safe. You were being a good son.”
“I wasn’t a good son.” He hung his head. “I could’ve—”
“Could’ve what? Died along with them?” She answered her own question with a shake of her head. “You can’t keep torturing yourself over what could’ve been. You did what you were supposed to do—what your parents wanted you to do. It’s time you learned that.” She glanced over her shoulder to Emily. “If you hadn’t obeyed your parents, Emily would never have known your love, and the child you’ll share would never have been created.” Her gaze returned to Jake. “Every child is a gift from God. He meant for you to live.” She reached for him with a trembling hand. “I know you’ll probably never be able to accept me, but you have to forgive yourself and let the guilt and bitterness go. For your wife. For your baby.”
Emily hoisted herself off the stool with her father’s help. When she lumbered over to Jake, she took his hand and placed it on her rounded belly. “This is why you’re here. Our baby. Would you want our baby to die trying to save us? This is what your parents wanted for you. They wanted you to live.”
Jake’s hand caressed his unborn child. He released a shuddering sigh and glanced over to Grace. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” she replied.
“I never gave you chance to explain.”
“You had every right to hate—”
“I don’t hate you, Grace.”
Wiping away a tear with the back of her hand, she started to walk back toward the table. Jake snaked a hand around her upper arm to drag her to a halt. “Wait.” He took Grace’s hand and placed it on Emily’s belly. “Your nephew’s kicking.”
Adam watched her closely. Grace understood Jake’s need to forgive himself so well because she’d never forgiven herself for leaving him behind.
Her hand continued to tremble until her eyes suddenly flew wide.
“She kicked,” Grace said, her voice quivering.
“He,” Jake corrected.
She just smiled.
The healing had finally begun—for both of them.
Chapter Twelve
Victoria knelt next to the stream, trying to pick the clumps of mud out of her hair. The task was next to impossible because her hair was so long and thick. For the first time, she was tempted to simply grab a pair of shears and lop it off as short as Grace’s.
Unbuttoning her shirt, she pulled it off. Flakes of dried mud floated around her like a dirty snowfall. The shirt was probably past saving, but she tried to wash it anyway. Marks she could live with, and it still might be useful to wear when she mucked out stalls. The horses never offered their opinion of her clothes.
Even when I wear pants.
She scrubbed the shirt with her cake of soap, beat it against a rock, and then rinsed it best she could. No doubt about it. There would be stains that would serve as nothing more than a constant reminder of Matthew Riley.
She sighed, thinking the man was as stubborn as those stains and that he was probably going to be as permanently set in her mind as those marks were on her shirt. After wringing out the water, she hung the shirt over a tree branch to dry and returned to the stream.
Kneeling down again, she dunked her hair in the water and tried to work the soap through the tresses. There would probably still be some dirt clinging, but maybe she could run her comb through the wet hair and pull more clumps out that way.
God, how she wished she was back at the ranch and could soak in her beloved bathtub.
Closing her eyes against the harsh suds, Victoria worked her hands through the strands, plucking more bits of dirt out of her hair and wishing she’d taken the time to braid it when she’d awakened that morning.
As if she could have predicted the mud bath he was going to give her.
She giggled. Yes, she was a mess, but she’d gladly pay the price again. For the first time since she’d met Matthew, she’d seen the real man. He had a sense of humor. He had spontaneity. He could be charming. Grace had told her that he was a diamond in the rough—not that she’d been seeking advice on how to win the man.
Who exactly was she trying to fool? She’d already opened her heart to the blasted cowboy, probably from the first moment she saw him in the distance when he stole her breath away—right before his horse had muddied her clean laundry.
What is it with that man and dirt?
Strong hands were suddenly in her hair, smoothing the soap over the long tresses. She didn’t startle. Somehow, she knew he would come to her. She only wished she knew why.
Desire?
Affection?
<
br /> Or simple lust?
There were no words between them. His fingers threaded through her hair, drawing out scraps of mud. He helped her dunk her head again then retreated to crouch a little farther away.
Touching her had been a mistake, but Matthew hadn’t been able to stop himself. Seeing her now, he wasn’t sure how he could ever walk away. Her shoulders were bare, the straps to her camisole having slipped down her upper arms. In the moonlight, her skin looked as smooth as porcelain.
Victoria finished rinsing her hair and then flipped her head back, making her wet hair arc high over her head to slap against her back. As she turned to face him, her taut, pink nipples strained against the nearly transparent damp fabric.
His cock hardened in response.
He reached out for her before he could talk himself out of doing something so insane.
With a tug, he pulled her to him, lying back against the moss as she sprawled out on top of him. She mumbled what he figured was an apology, but he couldn’t even process what she’d said. He stopped her words by cupping her neck and dragging her down into a heated kiss.
She tasted sweet, and when his tongue swept into her mouth, she responded with equal passion. Again and again, he plundered her, wanting her surrender, his tongue moving in and out, mimicking the act he so desperately desired.
There was no stopping this time.
His head swam and his ears buzzed. Overwhelmed by her taste, her scent, the feel of her breasts against his chest, he could hardly catch a breath. The kiss turned carnal, and he wanted to drown in it—to let all the feelings she sent ripping through him take control. Her hunger fed his own.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“Never. I’ll never leave you.”
She broke away from the kiss and unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers, each button taking much longer to give up the fight than he could stand.
She must think I’m made of iron.
Otherwise she wouldn’t have teased him with her maddeningly slow pace. The woman was everything beautiful and desirable, from her silky hair to her pretty little toes.
Grabbing her knees, he sat up until her legs straddled his hips. He captured her mouth again for another tongue-dueling kiss. His hand moved between them and slipped up her wet camisole until he covered one of her breasts with his palm. Her hardened nipple branded his skin.