A Kiss in the Sunlight

by Marie Patrick

  He’d been a visitor in this house nearly every Friday night for the past eight years, ever since Nate came back to Paradise Falls with a medical degree and a wife. Most Tuesdays were spent at the Prentice, and Sundays were reserved for the good Reverend Josiah Miller and his wife, Elizabeth. There was a comfort to be found in routine and in good friends, such as Nate and Celia, Josiah and Elizabeth, but now, with Nate’s confession, he wasn’t quite as relaxed as he should have been.

  And it was all because of her. Miss Ryleigh Steele, the ebony-haired, impossibly indigo-eyed siren, who stepped―correction―fell out of the stagecoach and into his arms a little more than a week ago. Nate wasn’t the first person she had spoken to . . . and he wouldn’t be the last.

  Teague let his breath out between his lips. He should never have told her that she could talk to anyone she wanted. What a mistake that had been. She’d literally taken him at his word. “Are you telling me this because you’ve said something you think you shouldn’t?”

  The good doctor shook his head. “I’ve known you for a long time, Teague. Hell, we’ve been friends since you and your family moved here more than twenty years ago. There isn’t a bad thing I―or anyone else, for that matter―can say about you. Oh, I didn’t tell her anything about the gunfight or what you found at the ranch, but I wanted you to hear it from me instead of anyone else that I’ve been seen in her company.” He cleared his throat, and Teague stiffened. That sound always accompanied a touch of unpleasant news. “Just so you know, she’ll be joining us for dinner.” He gave an elegant, almost helpless, shrug. “I invited her. The words just popped out of my mouth!”

  Teague let out a long sigh. So much for a relaxing evening with good friends. Just then the door pull buzzed. He heard Celia’s footsteps cross the kitchen floor and head down the hallway then muted conversation, followed by more footsteps. He heard Desi Lyn introduce herself and grinned―there was nothing shy about his niece. A moment later, the back door opened. “Celia said dinner is―”

  Teague looked up and sucked in his breath as Ryleigh stopped short, the Finch’s brand new screen door held open by a gloved hand.

  “Oh, Sheriff, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, am I intruding?” She came all the way outside, letting the door close behind her.

  For a moment―hell, a lifetime―he couldn’t seem to find his tongue. Or his voice. But he did remember his manners and rose to his feet. Beside him, Nate did the same. She was lovelier than he remembered from their walk the other day. Her hair was swept away from her face, held in place with ornate mother-of-pearl combs just above her delicate ears. The raven tresses flowed freely over her shoulders, drawing attention to the long expanse of her neck and delicate collarbones, both of which had been previously hidden by her high-collared lacy blouses. The pale pink of her gown brought out the roses in her cheeks.

  He shook himself free of his perusal and found his voice. “Not at all. If you’ll allow me?” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow, then escorted her along the porch to the French doors that led into the dining room, the scent of peaches surrounding him. Nate followed with a chuckle, which he didn’t bother trying to hide, as well as their glasses of lemonade.

  Immediately, Teague noticed that the table had been set with Celia’s best dishes—the ones she only brought out for special occasions―and candlelight flickered off the gold rims of the plates and crystal wine glasses.

  A bottle of wine chilled in a bucket of ice on the serving cart, which also held two perfectly roasted chickens, roasted potatoes, and a bowl of green beans with slivered almonds. There was also a bowl of pickled beets and a basket of Celia’s thick, hearty bread.

  “You sit here, Uncle T.” Desi Lyn pulled out his chair, which wasn’t his customary one, as Celia directed Ryleigh to her place opposite him.

  “Thank you so much for inviting me.” Ryleigh seated herself and directed her comments to both Nate and Celia. “Please accept my apologies for being late. I had a little mishap with my shoes.”

  “Your shoes?” Teague resisted the urge to check her shoes under the table. What had she done?

  She nodded, that lovely flush coloring her face. “I broke the laces. Fortunately, I had another set. I’m always prepared.” She grinned, her eyes gleaming. “But that wasn’t my only problem. As soon as I finished replacing the laces and tied my shoes, I took a step and promptly broke the heel completely off. It’s a good thing I brought another pair.” She laughed, the sound settling in his belly.

  They served themselves family style, as they always did, passing plates and bowls from hand to hand after Nate skillfully sliced the chicken. Wine was poured, except for Desi Lyn, who had a glass of milk served in one of Celia’s pretty crystal wine glasses.

  Had Celia done it on purpose? Placed him directly across from Ryleigh so that every time he looked up, he could see the warm glow in her eyes and the candlelight from the chandelier shimmering on her sable-colored hair? He had trouble focusing on the lively conversation around the table and barely recalled eating, though his full stomach attested to the fact that he had. His attention was so focused on her and the way her smile lit up her entire face, he didn’t even remember the table being cleared of dishes and Celia coming through the swinging kitchen door with dessert.

  He forced his attention elsewhere, but it was hopeless. His gaze drifted back to her time and time again.

  “Nate said you were a journalist for a newspaper in San Francisco, Ryleigh,” Celia said as she dished out slices of peach pie and passed the plates around while Nate filled cups with coffee. “What kind of stories do you write?”

  Her cheeks flamed with color, and those beautiful, violet blue eyes of hers darted from her plate to her coffee cup then finally back at Celia. “For a while, I was writing articles about the engagements and weddings of some of the most prestigious families in San Francisco, most of whom I’ve known all my life.” She sank her fork into the gooey concoction on her plate. “That didn’t work out so well.” When she looked up again, her eyes were sparkling with mischief.

  “I was attending the wedding of the mayor’s son and the daughter of the police chief for an article in the Tribune. Everyone who was anyone in San Francisco was there, including my parents.” She drew in her breath as her cheeks reddened even more. “I’m not quite sure how it happened, but I somehow bumped into the table with the cake. Well, maybe bumped isn’t the right word.” She laughed. “It was more of a collision of epic proportions! The next thing I knew, the cake―the whole nine-layer, butter-cream-frosted, candy-flowered monstrosity toppled . . . all over the bride. And me!”

  She laughed again, a deep, throaty sound that made warmth curl in his belly and blood rush through his veins. “And there I was, trying to help the new Mrs. Weatherly to her feet, slipping and sliding in the cake, which was all over us. Needless to say, the groom was not happy. The bride even less so, and that was the last wedding I wrote about.”

  Her eyes met his, and the heat curling in his belly doubled. So did the blood rushing through his veins. Yes, he had noticed how attractive she was before, but now, after regaling them with what must have been a most embarrassing moment, and laughing about it, she was downright beautiful. Her radiant smile lit up the room like sunshine. Teague couldn’t take his eyes from her.

  And that was dangerous with a capital D. He shouldn’t be looking at her at all, didn’t want to find her alluring or captivating, not with the threat of Logan’s bullet aiming for his back. What if he became involved with her and then couldn’t protect her when Logan came gunning for him?

  He needed to walk away, needed to leave the house before he said or did something he’d regret, like kiss that delectable mouth. He placed his napkin alongside his plate and rose from his seat. “We should be going. Nate. Celia, delicious dinner, as always. Thank you. Desi Lyn, get your doll.”

  The little girl raised her eyes to him, then glanced at Celia. Not a word was exchanged, but Teague could tell by the expressions on
their faces that something was up. He’d seen those looks before.

  “Let her stay with us tonight, Teague.” Celia grinned at him as she rose from her seat. “We’re going to make gingersnaps tomorrow, and then we’re going to plant some marigolds.”

  The little girl nodded with enthusiasm, her gray eyes―the MacDermott gray―sparkling with pleasure, her grin a mile wide and charming, more so since she’d lost a tooth earlier in the week. “Can I, Uncle T? Please?”

  Who could resist that face? Those eyes? Teague had no choice but to give in to her wishes, much to the approval of Celia, who cast her eyes toward her husband and winked.

  Something more than having Desi Lyn spend the night was going on here. He felt it in his gut. Something strange, and by the looks of it, the three of them―Celia, Nate, and Desi Lyn―were in cahoots with whatever it was. Suspicion made his stomach clench, and his eyes narrowed as they went from his niece to Nate then finally, Celia. The woman looked back at him without batting an eyelash, but there was a telltale glow to her cheeks.

  “Would you mind terribly doing me a favor?” Nate handed him his hat. “Would you walk Miss Steele back to the Prentice? I’d do it myself, but I need to help Celia with the dishes and then hit the sack early. I have patients first thing in the morning.”

  And there it was. His suspicion confirmed. He couldn’t deny the request. That would be rude, and he tried never to be rude, but if Nate and Celia had gotten it into their heads to play matchmaker for him and the lovely Miss Steele, they would be disappointed. He wasn’t looking for marriage, despite how happy Brock and Eamon were with their respective spouses―or even romance, for that matter, especially with a nosy, pushy, overly bold woman like Ryleigh. He couldn’t even think about that.

  “It would be my pleasure.” He turned to Ryleigh, who had risen from her seat as well. He almost grinned when he caught the expression on her face. If the widening of her eyes was any indication, she was just as surprised by the request as he had been. He found it charming that her cheeks were now the same color as her pale pink frock. “Miss Steele?”

  “Of course. I’ll just get my things.” Even as she said the words, Celia handed her the hat and reticule that matched her dress. “It was a lovely dinner, Celia.” She placed the hat on her head but didn’t tie the ribbons beneath her chin, instead tossing them over her shoulders so they curled down her back. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

  He turned his attention to Desi Lyn, crouched down, and opened his arms. “Come give your Uncle T a kiss good night.” The little girl rushed to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. “You be good for Aunt Celia and Uncle Nate.”

  “I will.” She wiggled out of his arms, then turned to face Ryleigh and put on her very best manners. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Ryleigh.”

  “And you, Miss Desi Lyn.”

  The girl curtsied as she’d been taught, giving Teague a moment of pride so profound, he couldn’t help grinning before she scampered into the kitchen, her curls bouncing against her back.

  In short order, Teague found himself being ushered out of the house with Ryleigh beside him, the usual handshakes forgotten in Celia and Nate’s haste to see them gone. He turned once as they passed through the garden gate to see his friends in the doorway, just watching them. He imagined them smiling, so pleased with themselves. He couldn’t see that in the darkness, but the suspicion that tensed his stomach earlier doubled. He jammed his hat on his head.

  “Come on, Shotgun!” A moment later, the dog raced from the backyard and stopped in front of him. “Good boy!” He rubbed the hound’s silky ears and closed the gate.

  “Thank you so much for walking me back to my hotel.” Ryleigh slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her down the street, the dog trailing behind them, pausing now and then to sniff at a particularly interesting bush or tree. “It was a lovely evening. I like them.”

  Teague nodded and tried hard to ignore the warmth of her hand seeping through his suit jacket. “They’re good people. Kind. Caring.” He tipped the brim of his hat upward, moving it farther back on his head and grinned in her direction. “Devious. Plotting. Planning.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “This.” He gestured to the hotel in the distance then up at the big, bright moon hanging above them before returning his gaze to hers. “Nate asking me to walk you back to the Prentice. In the moonlight. Alone. Together.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened before she gave him a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” Though he said the words, he did mind. Not so much that Nate had asked, but because he liked the way she strolled with him, her hand on his arm, the subtle smell of peaches rising up to his nose.

  Yes, sir. Dangerous with a capital D.

  “I’m proud of myself,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “You are?”

  “Yes, I am. I made it through dinner tonight without spilling anything, and I didn’t trip over anything, either.” She chuckled. “I didn’t do any of the clumsy things I usually do.” She lowered her voice, the tone becoming soft and throaty, and once again, warmth sped through his veins. “My problem seems to have worsened since I came to town. Especially when I’m around you.”

  “Around me?”

  Her voice lowered even more, becoming almost apologetic. “I tend to become more accident prone when I’m nervous.”

  “And you’re nervous?”

  She nodded once, then cast her gaze downward to study the sidewalk.

  “Is it me? Do I make you nervous?”

  Again, the slight nod and tremulous smile when she glanced up at him. Moonlight struck her face, and her indigo eyes darkened beneath its light. Her cheeks were pink, too, even in the pale glow of the moon.

  “Why?”

  They reached the front steps of the hotel, the dog jumping to the porch in a single leap and settling on his haunches to wait. Light spilled into the street, and the voices of the dinner patrons could be heard through the open windows. “Because . . . because I want . . . to kiss you.”

  Surprised by her admission, and her boldness mixed with a certain degree of shyness, he chuckled. “And do you want to kiss every lawman you meet?”

  Her smile faltered as she shook her head, and her voice dropped to the sultry tone that stirred his blood. “No. Just you.”

  “Well, then, why don’t you?”

  He was playing with fire. He knew it and didn’t care, because the truth was, he’d wanted to kiss her from the minute she tumbled out of the stagecoach and fell on him. The desire had grown from that moment on. Every time he saw her now, he had to fight with himself to keep from pulling her into his arms and tasting her sweet lips, despite the reason she was here.

  She closed her eyes and puckered her lips as she leaned toward him. If she was aiming for his mouth, she missed, but the warmth of her lips on his cheek roused him into acting on his desires. “Darlin’, I don’t know if that’s how they kiss in San Francisco, but if it is, you’re missing out. Let me show you how it’s done.”

  He drew her into his arms and grinned as she grabbed for her hat, which slid off her head anyway. Pulling her closer, his desire rose as her soft body pressed against his.

  Ryleigh’s eyes widened and filled with curiosity before his mouth descended on hers.

  This was a mistake, but he still brought her closer, his lips sliding over hers with a tenderness that belied the demand his body made to taste more.

  She wound her arms around his neck, and blood rushed through his veins, his heart thumping to keep pace as she shivered in his arms. Her mouth opened beneath the pressure of his, an innocent invitation, and, despite the fact he could sense how inexperienced she was, he slid his tongue between her lips.

  Warning bells sounded in his head when she made a small noise in the back of her throat. He ignored them. Not only could he smell the peaches that infiltrated his brain, he could taste them,
too, and that heady ambrosia was too much to disregard.

  He had to stop himself. He couldn’t keep kissing her this way―it was a mistake to hold her, to taste what she so naively offered. With more willpower than he thought he possessed, he broke the kiss and gazed at her face.

  She opened her eyes and drew in a shaky breath, but her arms were still wrapped around his neck, and her body pressed close to his—as if she clung to him to keep her balance, which was entirely possible. “Goodness gracious! So, that’s the proper way to do that.” She drew in another unsteady breath but didn’t move out of his embrace. Her gaze met his, her eyes glowing in the lamplight. “Who taught you how to kiss like that?”

  Teague laughed. “A gentleman never tells.” He released her, though reluctantly. She felt too good in his arms. Her height was perfect for him. “Good night, Ryleigh.”

  “G-good night, Sheriff.” She stumbled a bit but kept her balance as she turned and went inside the hotel.

  He waited until he couldn’t see her anymore, then called the dog and jogged down the steps and across the street, the scent of her in his head, the heat of her body against his still making his heart thump harder than it should.

  Oh, yes, dangerous, indeed.

  As he headed home, he began to whistle.

  • • •

  Ryleigh stopped on the landing at the top of the stairs and just stood there, her hand to her chest, because her heart pounded much too fast. Oh, my! So that’s how one kisses properly!

  She’d never known.

  Oh, she had been kissed before—awkward, clumsy attempts that never ended well, but this. The touch of his lips was provocative and exciting, and the warmth that seemed to be constant since she’d met him doubled, flushing her entire body, making perspiration bead on her forehead even as her belly filled with an undeniable ache for more. Goodness gracious! Even her toes were tingling.

  She knew what to expect from the marriage bed. Her married friends had shared some of their more intimate moments, much to her embarrassment, but no one, not one, had told her of this heady, intoxicating rush surging through her. She felt dazed, as if she’d partaken of too much wine, and for several moments, she couldn’t form a coherent thought.