*
Harper couldn’t stop reveling in the silky tightness of Tara surrounding him. She felt so damn good. It had been so long since he’d had sex. Olivia had crippled him, always pointing out his scars, the swellings that would never go away or his bruised flesh that would never lose those colors. She didn’t understand that each injury, each scar was a story, usually devastating to him personally, and saying his body looked ugly to her had affected his manhood and his heart. Because of that experience, he understood Tara’s earlier nervousness about all her injuries and how they might appear to him. More than anything, Harper had wanted to put her at ease, and he had.
As Tara moved off him, kneeled next to his right arm and leaned over, she softly kissed a three-inch scar that had curved around his right shoulder. Her fingertips were warm as she lifted her lips from the wound that he’d gotten during his first deployment.
He lay there, watching her through half-closed eyes, absorbing the thoughtfulness in her expression, the sympathetic look in her blue eyes, watching the grace of her hand as she leaned over once more. The strands of her golden hair tickled his sensitized flesh as she placed a warm kiss over another scar near the left side of his waist. There was no censure in her expression, no disgust in her eyes over his wounds; she understood what it was like to be wounded in combat.
Grazing his left hip, her fingers whispered across an oval, swollen area. His flesh tingled at her healer’s touch. Her long, thick hair loose and mussed, strands cool and teasing against his skin once more as she kissed the spot. Straightening, Tara moved down below his hips, sliding her fingers across his thick, curved right thigh. He had a lot of healed cuts on it, as most soldiers did. He was forever skidding to his knees, hitting rocks or pieces of broken tree limbs during firefights. His lower body had taken a pounding.
Closing his eyes, his hands behind his head, Harper surrendered to her tender touch, each kiss opening his heart more and more. It was as if she were mentally memorizing him, mapping him in her heart because her touch was butterfly light, filled with care for him alone. Tara worked her way around to the other side of his body, missing none of his injuries.
When she knelt near his head, she leaned down, kissing him on the mouth, and for a long, long time. As her lips lifted away from his, she whispered, “Turn onto your stomach now.”
Without a word, Harper nodded and did as she asked, tucking a pillow beneath his chest, his cheek resting against his folded hands on the mattress. Closing his eyes, he felt Tara’s lingering touch across his short, dampened hair, and her lips brushed against a scar on his left shoulder blade. It was as if his soul was relaxing, fractured as it was, for the first time since all the injuries occurred. The caress of her lips against his flesh, the brush of her fingertips afterward, as if sweeping away all the sordid memories associated with each scar, was nothing short of magical. No woman had ever done this for him. It was, for Harper, an act of selfless love he’d never experience from another person. The tenderness Tara shared with him as she worked from his shoulders down to his feet staggered him emotionally.
By the time she had completed her journey with him, giving unselfishly back to him, tears stung against his tightly shut eyes, wanting to be released, too. It felt as if a fist were pressing upward into his chest, squeezing his heart, which still recalled so much agony inflicted by each wound. Yet Tara’s soothing kisses and touches took the raw, visceral emotions away, dissolving them, leaving him in awe of her.
Tara lay down beside him, her brow against his hair, her arm spanning his broad back, and Harper felt her nurture him in another way. They lay quietly against each other, and he could feel the soft beat of her heart against his upper arm, where her breasts pressed against him, felt the moisture of her shallow breath flowing across his nape and shoulder. The relaxation thrumming through him, the sexual release that had drained him, overwhelmed him, and he drifted off to sleep, never having experienced such an incredible level of human care as he just had from Tara.
*
Much later, it was the night’s coolness in the room that slowly woke Harper. Groggy, he felt Tara’s warm, curved body following the line of his from his head to his feet. Her arm lay across his waist, her cheek resting against his neck and shoulder. Her moist, slow breath feathered across him and slowly brought him awake enough to realize where he was and what had happened.
At first, it felt like the most delicious dream he’d ever had, and he didn’t want it to ever end. This woman, who was so damned hot, yet so kind and thoughtful, was holding him with her woman’s strength. He luxuriated in the silence, the soft whisper of wind through nearby pine trees, their scent lingering lightly in the room. The coolness of the night sighed against his skin.
Tara was wrapped around him, almost in a protective measure, in his wandering, sleep-filled mind. He’d never felt that from any woman before. But then, Tara wasn’t most women. She had been a combatant. She knew life and death, and Harper was sure she had felt the same within him, wanting to guard him as he slept with her at his side.
It brought a new awareness to him about his relationship with his ex-wife and the present one with Tara. They were a universe apart in every possible way. His appreciation of her maturity, her ability to open herself up to him, totaled him emotionally. She was honest, innocent in some ways, trusting and, most of all, vulnerable with him. Harper wanted to shake his head over the unexpected luck of her walking into his life. From the first, it had felt like a magnet had awakened in his chest, his heart yearning wildly and constantly for her. And yet? They’d had so much to overcome within themselves, much less with each other. How brave was his woman.
There was no longer moonlight. It was dark now as he barely opened his eyes. In the distance, Harper listened to the crickets singing outside the window, a natural symphony of different insects, which added to the mellow sounds of the night surrounding them. Tara was here. Naked. Beautiful. His. Never had he felt such an overwhelming sense of protection as he did toward her. Oh, he knew Tara had survived a lot, had shown she could defend and protect herself without him being around. She could have died the many times she’d deployed with black-ops groups. Yet the curved lushness of her long body aligned with his made his heart fly open with fierce love for her. Harper had thought he knew what love was when he’d fallen helplessly for Olivia. But he hadn’t known. This was love. Real love …
Closing his eyes, he savored that realization, feeling the unparalleled euphoria enclose his heart, making him feel hope, now able to dream of a happy future he’d thought he’d never experience.
The room was chilly and they were laying naked on top of the bed. Harper hated to move. It was the last thing he wanted to do. This felt like the most beautiful dream he’d ever had and he was loath to end it. But Tara was real. And so was he. And they’d made love to each other hours earlier, falling exhausted into each other’s arms afterward, utterly and completely fulfilled. Dazed by the beauty of her love for him—and he did know without a doubt that Tara loved him as he loved her—he wanted this to be the foundation for their new, burgeoning relationship. Their lovemaking was too special, too beautiful, profoundly touching his heart and soul, to not experience it again and again. This was the woman he wanted in his bed, sleeping beside him until he drew his last breath on this earth.
He slowly eased out from beneath Tara’s arm and leg. She mumbled something unintelligible, frowned and then snuggled down on her belly, into the folds of the rumpled quilt, her cheek resting on the fabric, still fast asleep. Getting up, he padded silently to the bathroom and then to the linen closet. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and as he brought a huge white cotton down-filled comforter to the bed, Harper could see her scars. She had as many, maybe more, than he did. And he wanted to kiss each of them just as she’d done for him.
His heart was wide open to Tara and he came to her side of the bed, gently spreading the warm comforter over her. She stirred but didn’t awaken, and he was glad. Just the thought of getti
ng to slide back into bed, gather her into his arms, their bodies melting against each other again, tunneled through Harper. The gold of her mussed strands glinted dully as he eased into the bed and slid over to Tara, easing her back into his arms and against his body.
“… Harper?”
He smiled to himself, hearing Tara’s drowsy voice as she partially awoke as he embraced her. “It’s all right,” he rasped, kissing her hair. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. You’re safe… .” And he always wanted Tara to feel as safe as she did right now, burrowing into his arms, against his body, her arm slipping across his waist, drawing him as close as she could get to him. Cherishing the moment, Harper relaxed, allowing Tara to get comfy against him, hearing her breathing slowing into sleep once more. He had slid his arm beneath her neck, encircling her shoulders, drawing her close, and the last sound he heard was a little vibration in her throat, telling him she was happy. That was all that mattered.
Closing his eyes, he tried to settle down his awakening lower body. He had no doubt they would make love again when they woke closer to dawn. Unable to believe how buoyant and joyous his heart felt, he savored the feeling as never before. Harper knew from too many other times in his life how the bad mixed with the good. Only good happened a lot less frequently than bad for him. Until now. Until Tara.
They were meant for each other. His mind canted to his parents, who were deeply in love with each other and expressed it daily in many small but important ways. Sometimes, in his late teen years, he’d see his dad drop a kiss on his mother’s cheek. Or they’d touch each other’s hand or arm. Sometimes, it was the special meals his dad liked and she never forgot to make for him. And his dad knew his mother loved Shasta daisies, so one time he’d brought home a pack of seeds for her. And the very next evening, before dinner, he’d begun to dig along their fence to prepare a place where she could plant them. Harper had grown up, luckily, with parents who knew how to say I love you in hundreds of different ways.
His arm tightened a little around Tara’s shoulders as he thought of so many little ways he wanted to let her know he loved her, too. She needed a new printer, the old one nearing the end of its life. The idea of taking her on a surprise picnic in the Salt Mountain Range, to another beautiful spot where she could photograph wild animals and blooming flowers, appealed strongly to him. She loved having dinner with her parents at their home. Often, she would reneg, though, and now Harper silently promised her that they’d see her parents on a weekly basis. He knew it was healing for Tara and he’d make it happen.
As sleep claimed him once more, the last thought Harper had was to take Tara to lunch at Kassie’s, her favorite place to eat out. They both deserved time away from the ranch, to focus more on each other. And although the café could be noisy, he would time it so that they were both in a reasonably stable state where noise wouldn’t grate harshly on their tender, exposed nervous systems. Liking his potential plan, Harper promised to put more nice surprises in Tara’s life. She deserved them. And so did he.
Chapter Sixteen
June 18
Tara didn’t try to ignore or minimize her love for Harper as she drove toward Wind River. Even now, her lower body glowed in memory of waking up yesterday morning with his arms around her, his body cossetting hers. Never had she felt so safe. So … loved …
It was early morning, near seven a.m., and she needed to drive in to pick up a special order of feed for the broodmares that had arrived at Charlie Becker’s store yesterday. Needing to be back at nine a.m. to work with Harper out in the arena with Candy and her foal, Ebony, she was glad there wasn’t much traffic on the two-lane highway. The sky was a light blue, the sun’s rays streaking across the oval valley, highlighting the Wilson Range on her left and the Salt Mountains on her right. She loved that this valley was bracketed like bookends, by two different ranges. To her, it had always felt like a pair of Mother Earth’s arms around this special place she loved so much.
Harper… . She sighed and tried to keep her focus on driving. The highway was empty, so it wasn’t that stressful to divide her attention. Her heart was full of so much happiness she didn’t know what to do with herself. It was as if she was finally opening up, trusting a man and, in doing so, had opened the floodgates of her heart to a whole new world. One that she hadn’t anticipated. She felt as if she were in some kind of luscious, ongoing dream that she was afraid would suddenly disappear. Knowing it was the PTSD, the sense that something bad was about to happen to her, as it had in the past, and would happen again in the future, was like an old tape.
Libby Hilbert had taught her how her mind would replay bad tapes and that she had to ignore them, not invest in them. To connect with the memory emotionally kept it alive. When the memory popped up, Libby said to consciously force herself to think of something good that had happened in her life. Replace a negative tape with a positive one. And it was working. The past didn’t have the same claw-like hold on her as before. Meeting Harper, having a job with sister and brother vets at the ranch, were healing her. As it was healing them all.
Harper was offering her an incredibly happy world in the present and future. Tara didn’t fool herself that there wouldn’t be issues, but his patience and understanding allowed her hope to fully blossom. He hadn’t said he loved her and she hadn’t said the words to him either. She suspected they were both gun-shy of such a powerful word, that so much bad had happened to them in the past, they were going to be circumspect about admitting love now. Oh, how she wanted to, though! They were both coming out from a long, long journey with their military service, their brutal experiences and learning to live with PTSD. Tara didn’t fault herself or Harper for not saying what they felt in their hearts for each other. Bad always seemed to follow them and they were always looking over their shoulders. Maybe in time, Tara thought, they would see that something good was happening for them, something hopeful and beautiful. Then? They could tell each other that they were in love.
Suddenly, a rusty-looking red-and-white pickup loomed in her rearview mirror. Tara froze for a split second, the vehicle roaring up on her, the grille taking up her entire rearview mirror. She was driving a half-ton truck. The one bearing down on her was a three-quarter ton, much heavier and larger. Instantly, she gripped the wheel a little harder. Before she could step on the accelerator and avoid being hit by it, the vehicle smashed into her right rear fender.
There was a shattering, crunching, metal sound ripping through her cab. Her ears hurt from the screeching as they collided. Tara didn’t have time to scream. Her truck suddenly swerved sideways, turning around and around, out of her control. In seconds, the truck was airborne, and everything slowed down to painful single frames for her, as if she were in some kind of movie. As the truck flipped through the air, the seat-belt strap yanked hard on her shoulder. She screamed.
The truck slammed into her berm, the sound of buckling metal roaring all around her.
The airbags had already deployed, blinding her.
Tara was jerked and yanked one way and then the other, pain shooting through her neck, shoulders and chest. Her hands were torn off the wheel as it plunged down the steep berm. More metal shrieked as it was torn away by the rocky slope. Another cry came out of her as she was blinded by the airbags, unable to see or do anything except take the brutal physical punishment. Her mind blanked for a second as the truck slid to a halt on its side. She was hanging in the seat belt, trying to push the airbags away. She smelled smoke, and panic seized her. Breathing hard, she struggled, slapping at the now-deflating airbags. She had to get out!
Escape! She had to escape! Frantic, she twisted in the seat, her shaking fingers trying to locate the seat-belt release. The airbag was in the way, stopping her from reaching it. Cursing in frustration, all her combat training took over, and Tara jerked her hand downward toward the leather belt where her Buck knife was located.
The door above her was savagely jerked open.
Tara looked up.
Cree Elson sto
od on top of the truck, holding the door open, grinning down at her.
No!
Her mind blanked as she stared up into his slitted green eyes. His red hair was long, in a ponytail across the shoulder of his camo-colored T-shirt. His thick lips twisted into a triumphant smile.
“You’re mine, Tara.”
The words caromed through her skull and she whimpered, still trying to get to her knife. She had to fight him! She had to escape! But as she moved and jerked at the imprisoning seat belt, dizziness swept over her. For a moment, she lost her bearings. Feeling warm blood trickling down the left side of her temple, she realized she’d slammed into the door frame at some point. Escape! She had to get away from Cree! The look in his eyes was one of rage, triumph and desire.
“Sit still!” he shouted, getting down on his knees, hauling out a five-inch hunting blade from a leather sheath. “Stay still and let me cut you out of there!”
Breathing raggedly, Tara froze. She saw fire suddenly appear beneath the bent hood of the truck. Black smoke started to roil upward. Cree leaned over and she smelled whiskey on his breath as he grabbed her shoulder strap, swiftly cutting through it. Instantly, Tara fell toward the passenger seat, hanging against the deflated airbags.
Cree cut the other strap.
She fell hard into the side of the truck that lay against the ground.
Before she could twist and get to her knife to defend herself, Cree leaned in, his large hand grabbing the left shoulder of her jacket, hauling her up and out of the cab as if she weighed nothing.
Lone Rider Page 20