by Cindy Gerard
“Dad,” she repeated, tossing back the covers and sitting up quickly. Her heart suddenly beat out a frantic tattoo. “What is it? Is Noah all right?”
“He’s fine. Just fine, baby, I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Behind her, Jesse had turned on his side, facing her. The broad hand that caressed her hip was a comforting reaction to her sudden leap to attention.
She let out a relieved breath, covered his hand with hers and squeezed, effectively letting him know everything was okay.
“I’m sorry I called so late,” her father continued. “You must have still been putting the stock to bed when I called earlier. When I didn’t get you, I must have nodded off in my chair here. Anyway, I just woke up.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured, and almost groaned aloud when Jesse’s warm breath at the small of her back and his gently kneading hand at her hip combined for a soothing and lazy sensuality. “What’s up, Dad?”
“What’s up is that Ellie and I decided it was time for you to have a little time off the circuit. You’ve been working hard, honey. We want to spell you for a week or so so you can spend some time at home here with the boy.”
Her heart leaped at the thought of a solid week at Snowy River with Noah. Her sense of duty and responsibility quickly undercut the sweetness of the deal her father was offering.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking, honey. And I’m not offering any options here. Now, as soon as I get off the phone I’m hittin’ the sack. We’ll be on the road by sunup. You just send the boys on the way with the stock to Idaho and after we drop Noah with you at the motel we’ll catch up with them.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’m ringing off now. You get some sleep and we’ll see you in the morning.”
She whispered a soft, “Thank you, Dad,” as he hung up.
For a long moment she just sat at the side of the bed, the drone of the dial tone a distant intrusion to the silence.
“Everything okay?” Jesse asked, his voice rough with sleep.
“Fine.” She slowly replaced the receiver.
“And?” he prompted, his thumb still making those wonderfully lazy rhythmic circles on her hip.
“And it looks like I’m getting a vacation.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, the beginnings of a smile tipping her lips. “They’re bringing, Noah here . . . in the morning. . . and they’re taking over on the circuit for a week so I can spend some time at home with him.”
She wanted to be with Noah so bad she ached with it, was excited beyond measure at the prospect of having him with her for an entire week. But undermining that bubbling anticipation was the secondary result of her impromptu vacation. It would effectively end her time with Jesse.
The silence blanketing the room relayed that conclusion as efficiently as any words.
And when he softly murmured, “I’ll miss you, Country,” as he tugged her gently back down beside him, she accepted that he understood it, too.
“Yeah,” she said, turning into the warmth of his arms, “you will.”
Then she smiled softly, met his mouth with hers and lost herself in the bittersweet motions of saying goodbye.
Jesse had driven all night on more occasions than he could count. He’d raced across Texas one warm summer night three years ago and made chute time with fifteen minutes to spare. He’d flat-out frown through Nevada two winters ago to redeem himself by sticking a bull who had thrown him on his face in Lubbock earlier that year. Rodeo was the road. A rank bull and the promise of a wild ride, the only motive he’d ever needed to burn rubber and daylight in search of that ultimate ride, that ultimate risk.
He’d never pulled an all-nighter for a woman before, though. Never until now.
It had been four days since he’d watched from a distance as Sloan, with Noah strapped in the passenger seat beside her, had headed north toward Snowy River and away from the circuit. Telling himself that it had been for the best that the break was quick and clean, he’d climbed into his own truck, checked in on a grumpy but thankfully recovering D.U., and headed for Idaho and the next stop on the circuit.
He hadn’t ridden worth a damn. Blamed the fact that he’d pulled out of the competition after the second mght on a bruised thigh. Only his leg wasn’t the real reason he had bailed. He hadn’t yet come to terms with the real reason. Just as he hadn’t yet come to terms with why, after almost ten hours behind the wheel, he was pulling into the drive of the Snowy River homestead at seven o’clock on a Friday morning instead of moving on to another one of those pretty flower beds D.U. was always razzing him about pollinating.
Curiosity, he told himself as he rolled to a stop, cut the motor and climbed stiffly down from the cab. He was curious about Snowy River and how Sloan was getting on after their abrupt parting.
Closure, he added as he shrugged into an old jean jacket and gravitated toward the sound of a little boy’s laughter coming from the inside of a long pole barn. He just wanted to make sure she was okay.
And then there was the fascination, he conceded with an odd, constricting ache in his chest as he walked into the barn and saw her there with Noah. He simply hadn’t gotten enough of her. One long, silent look reminded him why.
A white-gold cylinder of early October sunlight streamed into an open stall just inside the barn’s wide double doors. Sloan was captured there in its shimmering arch. . . and the sight damn near stole his breath.
Wearing a heavy butter yellow sweater with her faded jeans, she was on her knees in sweet, fresh straw. Her hair was loose and pulled over one shoulder as if she’d just gotten out of bed and hadn’t taken the time to tug it into that confining braid she always wore when she was working.
The morning air was cool but her dark eyes were warm with amusement, her deep laughter bubbling as she watched Noah, who was scrambling after a scampering kitten, his own eyes lit like a Christmas tree.
Jesse could have sworn that his heart actually stopped—flat out, flat line, ceased to beat—at the sight the two of them made, wreathed in sunshine and smiles.
He stood stock-still, watching her, watching them, telling himself a man would have to be dead or dysfunctional not to react to that picture, and giving himself a little dispensation on that count. It was the ultimate Kodak Moment, the kind of scene that would tug on any man’s heartstrings. Even a man with no intention of settling down, or settling in.
A skiff of wind brought the crisp coolness of the fall morning with it. He hunched his shoulders against the chill and wrestled with a sense of intrusion that was sudden and acute, a feeling of exclusion that was numbing and extreme. He didn’t belong here. Yet the unexpected want to be a part of the picture, and the package, and the promise the two of them represented, blindsided him with the speed and the force of its intensity.
“Hey, Country,” he said, confused by his reactions and struggling to get ahead of them. But he only managed to get caught up in them all over again as he watched the play of emotions cross her face when she looked up and saw him standing there.
Noah’s head whipped around, too. Unlike his mother, whose expression was suspended somewhere between shock and wariness, he merely grinned at Jesse as a kitten squirmed in the grip of his pudgy little hands.
“Hey, Jesse,” he said with that unquestioning way a child has of simply accepting what was. “See my baby kittens?”
“Hey, cowboy.” Jesse’s eyes glanced from Sloan’s face long enough to slice Noah a smile. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full there.”
“Wanna pet one?” Noah asked, scrambling to his feet then running to Jesse with the kitten dangling from his upraised hands.
He stumbled, was about to take a fall when Jesse caught him, snatched him up, kitten and all, and hefted him onto his hip. Laughing, Jesse reached down to stroke the wiggling calico’s fuzzy head. “That’s a good way to skin a strip of hide off the end of your nose, there, bud.”
Noah laughed, a husky, robust sound t
hat was so much bigger than the boy that it surprised Jesse out of another chuckle. Grinning, he met Sloan’s eyes over the child’s head, only then realizing she had yet to smile for him.
She was standing now. Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts, her hands tucked under her elbows, as if she were protecting them from the chill of the crisp autumn morning—or distancing herself from him.
“What are you doing here, Jess?” she asked, far from hostile but undeniably unsure.
“Looking for a cup of coffee,” he countered easily, and set Noah back on the ground with a gentle pat on his tidy little butt. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any brewing?”
She tilted her head, looking tentative but no less wary. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Idaho?”
He shrugged. “Banged up my leg a bit. Thought I’d give it a little rest.”
Here, with you, if you’ll let me, were the unspoken words relayed through his eyes—then he waited with a kind of anticipation he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager on his first date to see if she would extend the invitation to stay.
She was silent for a long moment, those dark eyes relaying nothing more than her uncertainty.
The small, crooked smile that finally tilted her lips came just in time. She’d never know he’d been in such critical need of oxygen when she walked toward him, then right on past him toward the house.
“I’ll make a fresh pot,” she said over her shoulder. “And since Noah has been begging for pancakes this morning, I guess it’s your lucky day.”
Though he’d never admit to it, relief was as sweet as the sight of her long legs and slim hips striding toward the house and what he suspected was the kitchen door.
Nine
“So you can cook,” Jesse said after polishing off a short stack of Sloan’s blueberry pancakes, bacon and eggs.
She stepped close, filled his coffee cup and, making sure Noah was out of hearing distance, graced him with a sultry smile. “I thought we’d already established that.”
He grinned at the playfulness of her blatantly sexual innuendo.
“Too bad you’re just here for the coffee, cowboy, or I’d remind you just how well I know my way around a—” her gaze flicked from his eyes to his lap and back to his eyes again “—kitchen,” she finished á la Mae West.
He laughed out loud and, in deference to Noah, managed to keep from pulling her down onto his lap and taking her up on her offer.
“Is that any way for a mother to talk?” he whispered as she leaned across him to pick up his plate.
She just smiled and headed for the sink.
And there, Sloan tried to collect herself. It had been more than a shock seeing Jesse standing there watching her this morning. It had been an assault to the defenses she’d been building for the past several days.
She’d needed this time away from him. To recover. To regroup. To put what they’d shared behind her and get on with the business of getting on without him.
She’d thought she was off to a good start. But then he’d shown up. She’d seen the naked hunger in his eyes when he looked at her—a hunger that hadn’t been altogether sexual. Through those eyes, he’d relayed that vulnerability he’d never own up to. A vulnerability that tugged at places inside her she didn’t want him to reach because she knew he would never let her past those closed doors.
She didn’t know what he was running away from any more than she knew why he was here. She suspected he didn’t, either. But she knew better than to think that anything she could do would change him . . . just as she knew she couldn’t heal whatever wounds he worked so hard to conceal.
And so, she played the part. She played the game, knowing she wouldn’t be able to bear it if he discovered how much his presence here affected her. How deeply another goodbye was going to cut.
“Would you like a tour?” she asked as she stacked plates and silverware in the dishwasher, then dried her hands on a towel.
“Sounds good,” he said, watching her with that same, almost desperate determination she was clinging to. They both knew it was essential to keep it light between them.
“Let me get into my riding boots and we’ll saddle up—that is if you think you can ride for more than eight seconds at a crack.”
“Well, now . . .” His long, slow once-over knocked the sass right out of her challenge and sent heat pooling low in her belly. “I thought we’d already established that, too. . . several times.”
With a wicked lift of a brow, he rose and snagged his hat from the rack by the door. “Let’s go, country girl—and we’ll see who rides highest in the saddle.”
Smothering a grin, she turned her attention to Noah. “Come on, pork chop. Let’s get you into some warmer clothes.”
And, she added with a bracing breath, let’s remember why it wasn’t a good idea to get to feeling all warm and fuzzy inside by the way Jesse looked at her. Or by the sight he made filling up her kitchen. Or by the way his eyes had softened when he’d scooped Noah up and held him in his arms outside in the barn.
Let’s remember, she added resolutely as she followed Noah to his room to get a hooded sweatshirt, why temporary is the best that Jesse could ever be.
Jesse looked up from the fire as Sloan walked on stockinged feet into the living room. “All settled in?”
“He’s out like a light,” she said with a smile as she sank down into an overstuffed chair opposite the sofa where he sat.
He watched the firelight play across her high, proud cheekbones and take liberties with the blue-black sheen of her hair as she settled in, crossing her feet beneath her.
That odd ache came back again as he watched her, the one that had been wearing at him since he’d seen her on her knees in the straw in the sunlight. The one that had hit him on and off all day as she’d ridden with fluid grace across her valley, her hair flying behind her, her pride evident in the regal tilt of her head.
He tried to chalk it up to fatigue. He’d driven the better part of the night, ridden the better part of the day. But as the old oak mantel clock ticked in the background, a steady, mindless accompaniment to the muted crackle of the fire, he suspected that the biggest distance he’d covered had more to do with perspective than it did with territory.
Sloan had shared her home with him today. Noah had shown him what it was like to be a kid again. And through their eyes, he’d witnessed a sense of pride and sentiment and belonging.
And the ache had begun anew.
He stretched his feet out in front of him, warming his toes as he balanced a half-full mug of coffee on his stomach and tried to shake it off. But as the silence settled like an old quilt over the ranch house’s living room, the ache didn’t diminish and the question he’d held in check all day just wouldn’t keep any longer.
“Where’s Noah’s daddy?” He watched her face, searching for a reaction that might tell him more than words.
She merely diverted her gaze from her own coffee mug to the fire, then gave a small but very significant shrug.
“Last I heard he was busting broncs at the tourist rodeo down in Mesquite.” Again, that slight but telling lift of a shoulder. “That was a couple of years ago and it was just something I overheard. It’s hard telling where he is by now.”
“So you don’t keep in touch,” he concluded carefully.
One corner of her mouth tipped up in what he thought was a very brave, very cynical, and somehow very sad little smile. “In touch? No. We don’t keep in touch.”
He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t leave it alone. Maybe there was a little guilt now that he knew Noah’s father was a rodeo rider, too. Just another cowboy, like him, who needed nothing more than the promise of a rank mount to have him heading off into the sunset... and leaving something special behind.
Still, he whittled away. “He doesn’t see Noah?”
She blinked slowly, took a sip of coffee. “He’s never seen Noah. One night I told him I was pregnant, the next night he was gone. End of story.”
No,
he thought grimly. It might have been the beginning of the story, but it sure as the world wasn’t the end.
A moonlit August night by a slowly meandering river came back to haunt him. He remembered his exact words. Been burned on one of those side trips, have you, Sloan?
She hadn’t just been burned. She’d been abandoned. The no-good saddle burn had loved her then left her to deal with the consequences alone.
No wonder she hadn’t wanted anything to do with him in the beginning. He and Noah’s father were cut from the same cloth.
He stared hard at the fire. It had been a mistake, his coming here. He’d known that from the beginning. And yet he knew he’d do it again for the chance to be with her. He’d do it again for the experience of seeing her in her element. Snowy River was more than her home. It was her touchstone. Her heart was here. With the valley. With the boy.
He closed his eyes. The boy. He was something else again. One day was all it had taken and that pint-size little son of hers, who only knew life without a father, and had looked at him with dirt on his face and adoration in his eyes, had gotten under his skin something awful.
And that wasn’t fair. Not to any of them. Because he couldn’t be what they needed him to be.
So, where did that leave him? He shifted his gaze to Sloan. It left him where it always did lately. Wanting her and wondering how he had gotten tangled so tight when the one thing he couldn’t do was stick around.
The other thing he couldn’t do was stop looking. At the graceful curve of her throat. At the lithe suppleness of her body. The proud, classic lines of her face.
She deserved so much more than to be abandoned. So much more than the likes of him and the little bits of himself he could give her.
Yet when she met his gaze in the diluted firelight, he knew she would give and he knew he would take. And he knew he would leave in the morning.
“We’re here at the Lazy E arena in Guthrie, Oklahoma, folks, and I’ve got Jesse James with me. Jesse, tell us about that ride.”