That evening, exhausted from two days of hard riding, they sat together at dinner, knees touching, not saying much as they wolfed down salads, flaky biscuits, and savory chunks of local-caught fish, followed by hefty wedges of fresh berry pie and homemade ice cream.
Savoring her last spoonful, Nina made that sexy “mmm” noise of hers, the one that drained the blood from his head and sent it lower down, to pool warm and ready in his groin. But then she let out a rueful sigh. “I could fall asleep right here in my ice cream. I’m that tired.”
“Can I walk you to your cabin?”
She grinned over at him. “I know the way.”
“Humor me.”
As they walked through the gathering dusk, he took her hand, loosely intertwining their fingers and staying close, so they bumped together now and then at the shoulder, hip, and thigh. He was very aware of her soft, steady breathing, the warmth of her skin, the steady pressure of her fingertips, and when they reached her cabin and she turned to face him at the door, it took an effort of will not to close the small distance between them and kiss her, long and deep. Taste her. Touch her.
Patience, he told himself, and lifted their joined hands and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Will you come out with me tomorrow night?”
Her lips curved. “What did you have in mind?”
“It’s a surprise. Please?”
He wasn’t sure which one of them was more startled by the intensity of that last word, but she nodded. “Of course. Yes.”
Relief flared harder than he would’ve expected, warning him that he was more tired than he’d thought. “Good, that’s good. It’s a date?”
“Absolutely.”
As he headed for his cabin, debating whether or not to shower before he crashed and slept like the dead, he was already looking forward to tomorrow night, already knew where he wanted to take her, giving them both an evening they would never forget.
He hoped. . . .
• • •
Early the next day—somehow it was Tuesday already and Rustlers’ Week was half over—Krista and the wranglers offered the dudes an easier day, with a choice of more riding, unmounted roping practice, fly fishing, or doing their own thing.
Ben opted for roping and headed for the practice area, which was a small corral near the picnic area that was populated by upright posts sunk into the ground along with a small herd of sawhorses wearing plastic cow heads. To his surprise—and huge pleasure—Nina was already there. She was wearing her purple boots and a matching shirt, with her hair pulled back in a fat braid and her straw hat perched at a jaunty angle that made him want to tip it back so he could get at her lips.
Traci was with her, and they had been joined by two of the other single guys. The firefighter brothers from New York City stood flanking the ladies; one was holding a loosely coiled rope and seemed to be showing Traci the basics, while the other was nodding enthusiastically, though it wasn’t clear whether he was approving his brother’s skills or the view down Nina’s shirt.
Ben wanted to tie him in a few knots of his own. Instead, he plastered on an edgy-feeling smile and strode toward them. “Morning, Nina. Traci.” He shot each of the guys a look. “Gentlemen.”
The shirt-looker took a step back, away from Nina. “Hey, Ben. ’Sup?”
Eyeballs off, or you’ll be what’s up, Yonkers. “Not much. Ready to learn how to rope?”
“Absolutely.” Nina laughed up at him as if he’d said the first part out loud. “Though right now, you look more ready to string up a couple of rustlers, not act like one.”
“So I’m what? The sheriff?”
“If the boot fits . . .”
He wanted to lean down and kiss her—in public, in private, it didn’t matter. He wanted his lips on hers, wanted her in his arms . . . but he didn’t make the move because they weren’t there yet. He had kissed her good night after their first date and things had heated up fast. That was before, though, when she didn’t have any reason not to trust him. And now . . . he wanted it to be right, wanted it to be special, so he kept his hands to himself.
He didn’t keep his distance, though. No, he put himself right beside Nina, almost touching, and shot the other guys a look.
Brother one grinned and tugged brother two away. Message received.
Traci pouted good-naturedly. “No fair. You chased them off.”
“You could’ve told them to stay,” he pointed out.
“Nah. They’re only fun in limited doses.”
Before he could ask if the same went for him, Stace stepped into the practice corral and raised her voice to project. “Everyone? Could I have your attention, please?”
The assistant wrangler was a curvy twenty-ish who always looked stylish and put together, even in the jeans and logo polo shirt that seemed to be the ranch’s unofficial uniform. Although young, she had a natural way with horses and people, and had coached the two least experienced dudes—a mother-daughter duo that had started off mildly terrified of their placid mounts—through their early lessons with cheerful good humor.
Now she ran a braided lasso through her fingers and took a look around the group. “Anybody missing a rope?”
Ben started to raise his hand, but Nina nudged him with an elbow, separated what turned out to be two ropes in her hands, and held one out. “I had a feeling you’d be here.”
He took it, happy to the point of goofy, like he was sixteen again. “What if I went fishing?”
“Then I would’ve had an extra rope.” She shot him a look from beneath her lashes. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”
The goofiness spread so it felt like it was surrounding him, making the air fresher, the colors brighter. “So am I.”
They wound up paired for roping practice—thank you, Stace—and joked their way through tossing the stiff loops around the posts and sawhorses from varying distances, before moving on to live targets . . . as in, each other.
“Cows don’t think about things the same as we do,” Stace said as she took up her position opposite one of the firefighter brothers and showed him what to do. “They don’t strategize. But if you get an older cow who knows the drill, you can be sure you’re going to have to work for it.” She pivoted and ducked a shoulder as the wannabe roper shook out his loop and gave it a few awkward swings. “That’s it, aim for where I’m going to be, not where I just was.”
Once Mr. NY had gotten a couple of good throws off, she broke the dudes up into their pairs and turned them loose. “Be a good sport about getting caught when it’s your turn,” she advised, “and do your best not to strangle each other. We hate losing dudes.”
“Plenty of places to hide a body, though,” Nina pointed out to Ben.
He grinned. “A new use for Keyhole Canyon?”
“Something like that.”
“You want to be the hunter or the hunted?”
“I’ll play target, thanks.” She moved twenty or so feet away, lowered her head, made horns with her fingers, and pawed the ground. “Come and get me, cowboy.”
He shook out a loop, measuring the stiffly coiled rope with his fingers and feeling very cowboyish, like he should slap the dust off a pair of imaginary chaps. “I’ve never seen a prettier, um, slow elk.” No way he was calling her a cow.
Her eyes glinted. “Flattery, huh? Think that’ll work on a longhorn?”
He got his lasso moving, not twirling it like a trick roper so it flared open over his head, but swinging it like a real cowboy—or so Stace had told them—with the knot in his hand and the loop traveling in a big circle, like a yo-yo going around the world over and over again. “Have you heard the way Foster talks to the horses? Want to bet he doesn’t have conversations with the cows, too, talking them into being caught?”
She circled him like a fencer, dancing on her toes and shifting her weight from side to side. “I think you’re stalling.”
“Stalling? Ha. I think you—” He pivoted and spun. He whooped as the loop spread in a perfect cir
cle . . . but then groaned as it leveled off at shoulder height.
She dodged, then laughed as the rope hit the dirt, singing out Stace’s advice: “Aim for where I’m going to be next, not where I was before.”
“Words to live by.” Concentrating, he faked a toss in one direction and then threw almost blindly in the other, then gave a whoop when she dodged straight into the path of the lasso.
“Noo!” She ducked, but the rope settled around her neck and shoulder.
He pulled gently, snugging the lasso around her torso, and then hand-over-handed the rope to tug her in, not stopping until their bodies bumped. “I’ve got you.”
Grinning up at him, she winked. “Yes, you do.”
Not yet, he thought, but almost. Leaning in, he grazed his lips across her earlobe and whispered, “Meet me behind the barn at seven.”
She pulled back, laughing. “Wow, that’s a cowboy pickup line, for sure.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Okay, maybe a little. “Bring a jacket. You’re in for a treat.”
“Where are we going?”
He grinned. “This is Mustang Ridge, right? I figured that as long as we’re here, we should see some mustangs.”
Chapter Six
Later that day, after their promised rendezvous behind the barn, Nina sat beside Ben in their borrowed ATV, with their bodies bumping together as they headed along a rough two-wheeled track. There wasn’t anyplace she’d rather be. Not just because of the gorgeous countryside surrounding them and the promise of an adventure ahead, but because of the man who had his arm around her, holding on tight to cushion her from the worst of the jostling.
Wearing newer jeans and a blue shirt a few shades darker than his eyes, with his freshly showered hair combed back and falling into touchable waves as it dried, he was a steady, solid presence beside her. He was warm when the late afternoon had started to cool, strong where the rugged road tried to pull the wheel from his hands. And with a picnic basket strapped to the cargo deck behind them, he was taking her to the high-country lake that the wild mustangs were rumored to frequent this time of year.
It was incredible. Amazing.
He was amazing.
Nina snuck a look at him just as he glanced down at her. Their eyes met, and a sharp, wanting heat kindled in her belly. He tightened his arm briefly around her, then returned his attention to the so-called road as they headed up a long incline leading to a faraway ridge. That gave her a moment to stare at him and let that heat spread—but there were nerves, too.
How had he gotten so thoroughly under her skin? How had it happened this fast?
Too fast, she thought, but couldn’t make herself get some distance, physically or otherwise. Then they crested the ridge, and she stopped thinking, stopped worrying, and her mouth fell open in a gasp of pleasure. “Oh! It’s gorgeous!”
The trail snaked down into a green valley, winding around a number of huge gray boulders that were surrounded by explosions of tiny purple and yellow flowers. At the bottom of the valley, the trail ended at a lake that looked like something out of a calendar or a movie set, too perfect to be real. The water was a deep blue, with silver gleams rippling along the surface and worn-smooth places at the water’s edge where the herds came to drink.
“Welcome to Mare’s Rest Lake,” Ben said as he sent the four-wheeler down the winding path. “According to Krista, this is one of the best places to see wild horses this time of day. They come down to drink just before dusk, when they can still see pretty well and the nocturnal predators aren’t all the way awake yet.”
“Predators?” She shot him a dubious look. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
He gave her a squeeze. “Me neither, but Foster said we’d be okay if we stayed on open ground, away from the trees.”
Where Keyhole Canyon had been stark and rugged, the lake and its surroundings were lush, with trees along one edge, their branches tugging in the faint breeze, making her think that a deer—or more, a mustang foal and its wary mama—could step through at any moment.
“If it comes down to it,” Ben continued as he let the vehicle coast to a stop, “I’ve got bear spray on me, and there’s a shotgun behind the seat. Just in case.”
“Right. Just in case.” The idea of a loaded shotgun shouldn’t have made her want to laugh, but that was exactly what she did as she jumped down from the vehicle and filled her lung with crisp air that didn’t seem nearly so thin now as it had only a few days ago.
But that was the thing—nothing was like it had been last weekend when she left her condo to fly to Wyoming. She was off on a mustang adventure with Ben, complete with a picnic and a shotgun. If anybody had suggested something along those lines a week ago, she would’ve thought it was a heck of a joke. Now, though, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, with anyone else.
“Like it?” he asked with a grin in his voice.
She went ahead and did a twirl. “I love it.”
They were twenty or so feet from where the grass turned to lakeshore pebbles. Nearby, a huge boulder thrust out over the lake, wide and flat, with charred places that suggested they weren’t the first to picnic there.
“I can just picture us sitting here a hundred years ago,” Ben said, coming up beside her so they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, staring across the lake to the far shore, with its thick stands of trees and beaten-down watering spots. “Two hundred years, or even more. We’re cowboys, maybe, stopping to grab a bite while the herd drinks its fill. Or maybe we’re pioneers with a homestead nearby, having a picnic, just the two of us.”
Her head went a little light—from the moment, the images, the man. “Ben . . .” She trailed off, not sure what she wanted to say. Who would’ve guessed he was a dreamer?
“Sorry.” He grinned over at her. “My mind gets away from me like that sometimes. Did I mention I had a thing about cowboys when I was a kid? Anyway . . .” He gestured to the wide, flat rock. “This looks like our picnic spot, but I don’t see any mustangs.”
Nina was a little shaken by the realization of just how little she knew about him, really, but she forced a teasing tone, determined to keep it light. “I don’t suppose yelling ‘Here, horsie, horsie, horsie’ is going to get us very far.”
He chuckled. “Possibly not. I’m guessing it’s more of a ‘have patience and maybe you’ll get lucky’ kind of situation. In the meantime . . .” He lifted the heavy picnic hamper easily. “What do you say we see what Gran packed for us this evening?”
“I say absolutely, yes!”
It turned out that the ranch’s virtuoso of biscuits and family-style meals had hooked them up with thick, buttery soft slabs of ham in sourdough buns with all the trimmings and sides and a tin of chocolate chip cookies so fresh that when Nina opened it, she was pretty sure she gained a few pounds just from breathing the trapped air.
“Mmmm.” She closed her eyes and inhaled, then covered the cookies and set them aside. “Sorry, boys, you’re going to have to wait. No dessert before dinner.”
“Says who?”
“Says everyone. My mother, for one.”
His eyes went wicked as he uncovered the cookies and waved them in front of her. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never had chocolate chip cookies for dinner?”
Laugher bubbled up. “Okay, you got me. I also eat mac and cheese straight out of the pot sometimes. Not on a date, though.”
“Well, I think this is the perfect time to start.” He took a cookie and bit in, his teeth making a perfect semicircle and turning the cookie into a crescent moon. Then he held out the tin and wiggled his eyebrows evilly. “Come on. You know you want to.”
She fended him off. “You’re a doctor! Isn’t there something in the Hippocratic oath about the food pyramid and eating your veggies before you can have your dessert?”
“I’m a surgeon. Where other doctors mess around with tests and differential diagnoses, we cut right to the point.”
“Which is?”
“Somet
imes you need to do what feels good.” He held out the rest of his cookie. “And this feels very good. Doesn’t it?”
She hesitated, not sure if it was a question or a dare. Then, realizing that all of this was daring for her—the ranch, the lake, being alone with Ben—she leaned in and took a bite, turning the crescent moon into a scythe.
Eyes darkening, he ate the last bite himself. He didn’t lick his fingers, but the vibe was thick in the air and the heat of his gaze.
“Yes,” she acknowledged, voice barely above a whisper. “It feels good. Too good.” And it was suddenly overwhelming. She wanted to lunge across and kiss him, wanted to feel his body against hers. More, she wanted to know that she was going to feel like this again and again, even once they went home. Licks of panic came at the thought that she might not.
“What’s wrong?” he said, expression shifting, though she didn’t know what he had seen on her face, how much he had understood. He reached out and took her hand. “Nina? What’s the matter?”
Don’t do it, she told herself. If you get too intense, you’ll spook him like you did before. Because she was pretty sure that had been at least part of the disconnect. But at the same time, she didn’t want to be with someone if it meant tiptoeing around important things.
So, after a brief hesitation, she said, “This doesn’t feel real. It’s . . . I don’t know. A vacation fantasy. Don’t get me wrong,” she added quickly. “This is amazing.” It was too simple a word for the picnic, the lake, the man . . . forcing her to admit that none of it was simple anymore.
“But?” His eyes were as steady as his hold, encouraging her to lean, to hang on tight.
She had gone into this telling herself not to take him too seriously. Hel-lo, fail. “It’s already Tuesday.”
“And you’re worried things are going to change once we get home.” It was more a statement than a question, making her think she wasn’t the only one who’d been wondering how this was going to go.
“It’s more that I’m worried things will go back to being the way they were before, with me wanting more attention than you’re able to give.” She had been honest with him about her reasons for turning down his last invitation, so it wasn’t like this was news to him. “I’m just . . .” She made a helpless gesture. “I don’t usually get in this deep with a guy, this fast. Especially when we’re on different pages, relationship-wise.”
Sunset At Keyhole Canyon: A Mustang Ridge Novella (A Penguin Special from Signet Eclipse) Page 4