He hadn't thought he'd ever say it. Panic edged into his mind until he looked at her again. This was Poppy, and he couldn't live without her.
Her soggy clothing saved him from emotional overload. Trying to separate dripping wet, ice cold jeans from their wearer didn't happen by magic. "What is it all those romance novels say?" he asked. "He swept away the gossamer whatever of her clothes? I guaran-dam-tee you she wasn't wearing wet denim."
"I'm sure you're right," Poppy said, and wriggled another inch of hip free. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I'm sure," Mac said grimly. "But couldn't you buy these things a size bigger?"
He yanked. Poppy leaned back on her elbows and lifted her hips to help him. "Sure, but would we be here if I had?" Her eyes brimmed with contagious laughter.
"Woman, you'd drive me crazy if you wore a horse blanket." One final tug detached her from the jeans. Mac sank back on his heels and admired the view of all that creamy skin interrupted only by silky, leopard-patterned bikinis. "If I'd known what you were wearing underneath..." He stood, reluctantly. "Give them to me," he ordered.
"What, you tell me you love me and all of a sudden you can give up seduction in favor of orders? I don't think so." But she smiled when she said it.
"I'm going to spread your clothes out to dry while we're—ah, occupied."
"Oh, well, in that case..." Poppy stripped pants, shirt, and bra with the speed of light. "I love a liberated man who doesn't mind doing the laundry."
Her bra matched the panties. Mac brushed the silk across his cheek before draping it over a bush beside the jeans. He'd do her laundry eight days a week for moments like this.
He turned and looked at her, all bright hair and velvety skin against the rich green of the grass. He wanted to pause, to savor the promise of her, the rich colors and textures beneath the bright blue freedom of the sky, but the need to touch, to feel her under him, around him, burned through him like wildfire. It took all his self control to spread his clothes out beside hers to dry before he came down on her with all the finesse of one of his stallions, not sure if he was demanding or pleading, knowing only that he needed Poppy like this, wild and free and burning under him, her wildness meeting his in a plunging, blazing inferno that consumed them both.
He collapsed beside her, dragging in great gulping breaths and seeing that forbidden word, forever, shining in his mind like neon on a black night.
Poppy propped herself on her elbows and looked at him. "Wow! It hasn't been like that before."
Mac shaded his eyes with one hand and looked up at her. He could only shake his head. The forever thing sure made a difference.
"I don't think my clothes had time to dry," she said, but took any sting out of the words by curling into him with a kiss.
He gathered her close and rested his chin against her hair, too shaken to do anything but hold her until she dozed, marveling at the new, primitive feelings that filled him to bursting until he slid easily into sleep.
The sun had sunk low in the sky when he woke and gathered the still-damp clothes. "Much more fun taking things off," he grumbled, watching her shimmy into her jeans. "But we'd better get back."
"There's always tomorrow," Poppy said. Her gaze met his and he saw in her eyes the same thought that filled his mind—not many tomorrows remained. He knew in his bones that he wanted forever with her. A lifetime of caution kept him from saying the words, but he couldn't let her go back to Boston.
* * *
Of course they got to the main lodge just as a carload of new guests arrived. Poppy smoothed a hand over her wild, uncombed hair and tried to ignore her muddy, wrinkled clothes.
Just as she started for her cabin, Alice came out onto the veranda. "Oh," she said. "You're back. I'd like you to meet one of our new guests. Jason Cunningham."
Poppy's startled gaze flew to the man behind Alice. Jase. Her Jase. Her very own roommate, Jase.
Without a flicker of recognition, he said, "How do you do."
"H-hello," Poppy stammered.
Mac's hand lay possessively on her shoulder, and he leaned around her to shake hands with Jase. "I'd better go help Moses," he said. "I'll see you both at dinner."
Poppy followed Alice and Jase down the path. Jase behaved like every other guest. Jase had the cabin next to hers. But why was he here?
And what would Mr. Suspicious think when he found out she had a male, albeit platonic, roommate?
Chapter 14
Mac ran into Tom by the barn before dinner.
"You took her where?" Tom bellowed.
"You heard me."
"We don't take guests up there."
"I know." He glared at Tom, turned, and marched into the barn where he fiddled with tack, checking cinch buckles and reins until his temper faded. He didn't understand Tom's relationship with Poppy, and he wanted, needed, to know. And if truth be told, feared what he might learn.
And there was the new guy. The way he'd looked at her—as though he knew her. Proprietary, that's what it had been, and it made Mac's hands curl into fists.
Before that could go too far, he realized he still had Poppy's sapphires in his pocket. What better excuse to drop by to see her? Not that he needed an excuse. He sauntered along the path to her cabin, whistling and turning the little vial of gems in his fingers. A man couldn't do anything finer on a fine summer evening than take a handful of jewels to his lady.
He bounded up the steps to Poppy's cabin, about to call out—"Honey, I'm home," seemed appropriate—but the words froze in his throat when he saw her just inside the open door, standing too close to that citified idiot, Jason Whatever. Saw her standing with his arm around her and her head tilted to listen to the words—the honeyed words, probably—he whispered in her ear.
Every muscle in Mac's body went rigid. His fists clenched and the glass vial of sapphires dropped to the floor of the porch and rolled into a corner. He sucked in air through flared nostrils and counted to ten in every language he knew. Rule number one, 'Don't kill the paying guests', didn't seem real important now that he'd come face to face with this woman-stealing, egg-sucking, good-for-nothing—
"Mac! I didn't expect you," Poppy said.
"I can see that." His face felt stiff, his mouth barely moved with the words.
Jase dropped his arm from her shoulder and stood up straight, like he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. "Hey, Mac," he said, his attempt at casual camaraderie unbelievably feeble.
Mac focused his glare on Poppy. "That's fast work. You just met him."
Temper flashed in her eyes. She opened her mouth, but no words came out and she glanced at Jase as if for help.
"Don't look at him. I'm asking you," Mac said through clenched teeth.
"Jase and his sister Kate are friends of mine. Kate is my attorney." She paused, and he knew she had something worse in store. "Jase is my roommate."
"Roommate." Mac inhaled deeply. "As in, you live with him."
"Roommate," she said firmly. "As in platonic relationship undertaken to save rent money. Rents in Boston are unbelievable. Astronomical. And associate professors are not well paid."
"And why would I believe he could keep his hands off of you?" Mac asked. God knew he wouldn't be able to.
"Platonic is possible even with a woman like Poppy because I'm gay," Jase said. "Jerry wouldn't like it."
"Jerry." The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. "And just where might Jerry be?"
"At work, probably. In New York. He didn't come with me because I thought that it might be—ah, difficult. Perhaps even dangerous."
He had a point, Mac had to give him that, given the homophobic attitudes of some of the locals. But Poppy sharing an apartment with a guy...
"A two bedroom apartment," Jase assured him gravely after a look at his expression. "Separate bathrooms, too."
"You're friends. Good friends." Mac had to get it clear in his head.
She nodded. "Yes, we are. I have lots of friends. Is that a problem?" She f
aced him like a gunfighter, her shoulders squared militantly.
Mac sighed, anger bleeding out of him. "No, that's not a problem. I suppose you're actually safer with a male roommate, even one..."
Jase smiled. Smirked.
Mac noted the flex of muscle in Jase's arm. Ah, hell, let it go. "But why?" He had to ask. "I'll grant you that you didn't want to come here as a couple with what's his name, but why come at all? Not that we're not happy to have your business, you understand, but what the hell are you doing here?"
"I was worried about Poppy."
"Why? The stagecoaches run almost every day, we have telephones, and the Indians are friendly. We haven't had a massacre in years."
Poppy and Jase exchanged a glance that excluded Mac and had him seeing red. "I see. Jase is in on the secret too. In fact, every one is except me. And Alice."
"That's about it," Jase said.
"And I suppose you're under a vow of silence too?"
Jase nodded.
Mac looked from Jase to Poppy and back again. Suddenly the whole situation tickled his funny bone. He'd seen plays that seemed less staged than this. "It's only a matter of time before I find out what's going on. We still hang rustlers out here, you know. That could include rustling husbands as well as cows."
Poppy looked as if she might faint until she caught the twinkle in his eye. "You think this is funny."
"It's beginning to feel that way, honey. I feel like I'm in some kind of stage play. Now tell me again just why you won't tell me what's going on?"
* * *
She wanted to. But she'd been sworn to secrecy and a promise was a promise. "I can't. I promised and I—" Mac echoed the words as she said them. "Oh, stop that! What a time for you to regress to grade school."
The humor faded from his face. "I guess we'd better get Tom down here and find out just what's going on." He moved toward the phone.
Well, thank goodness. She smiled at him, a smile of pure relief. If she couldn't talk Tom out of the secrecy, maybe Mac could. And then everything would be out in the open and she'd be free to— Free to what? She hadn't factored what she felt for Mac into her plans for the future. She had to go back to Boston, back to the university, back to her career.
Back to having nothing in her life except a job.
Wonderful.
"Maybe I'd better just be going along—" Jase began, his voice tentative.
"Maybe you'd better just stay here, since you seem to be part of whatever this is," Mac interrupted. He threw the phone back in its cradle. "No answer. We'll—"
"Poppy?" Tom's footsteps rang against the wooden steps.
"Good timing," Mac said. "Come in. I was just trying to call you."
"What's up?" Tom came in and looked around. He nodded to Jase and looked at Poppy, his expression self-consciously innocent.
"The jig," Mac said.
"You told him." Tom wheeled to confront Poppy. "You told him."
"No," she said reluctantly. If Tom believed she'd told, he'd stop stonewalling Mac, but she couldn't lie. She could only hope. "I didn't, but you have to," she said. "Tom, for heaven's sake, tell him."
"Yeah, Tom. Tell me."
Tom's expression set in a mutinous glare. "It's none of your business. I keep telling you that what goes on inside a marriage is private."
"I think you've overstepped the bounds of privacy when you bring another woman here." Comprehension dawned on Mac's face. "I'll be damned. That's it, isn't it?" He looked from Tom to Jase to Poppy and back to Tom. "And you're part of it." This time his glare skewered Jase. "I get it. Tom knows you somehow, and I'll bet he heard a bundle about your gorgeous roommate." He rounded on Tom. "You son of a bitch. You asked Poppy to come out here and make my sister jealous. What were you thinking, you damned pea brain?"
"Yes, Tom. What ever were you thinking?" Alice's cool voice spread silence over the room.
"Come on in," Mac said. "Shall we continue, or do you think we should wait for Moses and Chickie?"
"Why would we wait for them?" Alice looked puzzled.
"Everyone else is here," Mac said. "And I had the impression that the final scene of a good farce required all the characters to be on stage."
"Is that what you think this is? A farce? Glad we've been able to amuse you." Anger simmered through Tom's words and his expression twisted in torment.
"It's beginning to feel like one," Mac said.
"Anyway, Moses took Chickie to town," Tom said. "You'll have to do your little stage play without them. And without me. I don't think this is funny."
"Nor do I," said Alice. "Before you get on with whatever you're doing, perhaps you'd like to explain just what you meant about Tom asking Poppy to make me jealous." Her voice had gone from cool to sub-zero, and she directed an instant icicle glare at Poppy.
Poppy couldn't blame her.
"We're waiting for Tom to do the explaining," Mac said.
Alice's face froze in a mask that tried to reveal nothing, but the pain in her eyes made Poppy sick. She looked at Mac, but he had his gaze fixed on Tom.
Alice raised one eyebrow at her husband. "I can scarcely wait," she said, her politeness a thin veneer over sarcasm.
"That's why, dammit," Tom burst out. "Listen to yourself. You sound like you don't care any more than if we were talking about—about the color of a guest's shirt. What the hell did you expect I'd do when you turned into an ice cube? Keep bringing you flowers?"
"You—"
Tom rode right over her words. "Well, I brought you flowers. Flowers didn't work. Take you out? I did that. It didn't work. Romantic vacation? Remember Hawaii? That didn't work. Nothing worked. You've been bouncing me around like a tennis ball since last winter, all lovey one minute, and then the old deep freeze the next. I figured—I don't know what I figured." His shout faded to a soft thread of pain. "Another man, maybe."
Alice went white. "Of course not."
"What else could I think when you were so distant? I figured you were bored with me." Every line in his face expressed naked anguish. "So I asked Poppy to make you jealous. I hoped that if you thought a beautiful woman wanted me, you'd be interested again."
Alice's mouth dropped open.
Poppy smiled. "Short and straight to the point."
"But there are always women wanting you."
"Guests. No way would I get tangled up with a guest, and you know it."
"But Poppy's a guest. Why should I believe you'd get tangled up with her?"
"For starters, she's a little more attractive than the average guest. And since she was in on the plot, I could really lay it on her." Alice flinched, and he added, "Pretend to."
Alice drew a shaky breath.
"And I figured maybe you'd think I'd just gotten fed up and had started to roam," he finished.
"Fine," Alice said. "But what kind of woman would—"
"A very nice woman. What would you rather forgive," Tom said shrewdly, "a pretend flirtation with Poppy or a real affair with someone else?"
"Tom." Tears stood in Alice's eyes. "Oh, Tom."
Tom rounded on Mac. "So are you happy now? You couldn't be more in the middle of something private if you'd stood at the altar and taken vows along with us."
Poppy felt more than heard the swift intake of Mac's breath. "You're right," he said quietly to Tom. "I owe you an apology."
"So you weren't really interested in Poppy?" Alice said. "You were only trying to—"
"Get my wife's attention. Yeah. Silly me."
"Not silly." The tear that slipped down Alice's cheek gave Poppy hope.
"On that note," Tom said, "I think we'll move this discussion to a more private venue." He wrapped an arm around his wife and led her out the door.
The silence after their departure made Poppy's ears ring and she didn't want to look at Mac, didn't want to see whatever he felt in his eyes. He'd figured it out. He'd probably hate her now, and she couldn't bear it.
He put a finger under her chin and made her look up at him. "So
all that flirting with Tom was an act?" he said.
"You might say it's my fault," Jase offered.
Mac quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Well, I asked Poppy to help Tom."
"Because he's such a good friend of yours." Mac's voice dripped sarcasm. "Even though I've never heard him mention you."
Jase shrugged. "Because I owe him. A couple of years ago at the airport in Butte, a few of your local good ole boys thought Jerry and I might want to go for a ride with them. See a little of the countryside. I don't think they meant for us to get back in time for our connecting flight. Tom helped us convinced them otherwise. So I owe him. He had dinner with us when he came back east last month, and Poppy was there too, and, well, things just sort of snowballed from there."
Poppy closed her eyes. He should stop there, please. Honesty was good, but she didn't want Mac to know how childish and stupid she'd been. She especially didn't want him to know she'd been stupid enough to actually do the other woman thing more than once. She'd had to practice, after all, but it sounded so... so bad.
"And you let Poppy pay off your debt?" Mac curled his lip.
"She offered," Jase said.
Poppy let out a silent breath of thanks.
"How nice of her." Anger bled back into Mac's voice. He turned to Poppy. "Were you out of your mind, woman? Whatever possessed you to come to a strange place for two weeks and act like a husband-stealing tramp? What if Alice were the violent type?"
"That's why I came. I worried," Jase said. "Since I got Poppy into this—"
"If it makes you feel any better, I was scared," she said. "And I'm never going to do it again."
"That goes without saying," Mac told her.
Her temper flashed at the note of command in his voice, and fizzled when she realized she agreed.
"I think I'll leave now," Jase said.
"Good idea," Mac said when the door slammed behind him. "No other men, Poppy," he told her. "Not for pretend, not for real."
"No. I'm so mad at you for not trusting me I could just kill you, but there isn't going to be anyone else."
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