“Okay,” Elliott said, low. “Stay calm. I’m going to move a little toward the back, to put some weight back there. Then I want you to come behind me and jump off.”
“I c-c-can’t move,” Natalie whispered. She couldn’t feel her legs. She wasn’t sure they could even operate. She felt as if she couldn’t shift, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe or else the cart would go over. She leaned back as far as possible and tried not to let out a breath.
“I’ll help you,” Elliott said gently. “Let me get the cart steady. Just . . . stay calm. And stay still.”
Natalie wanted nothing less. She wanted to freeze in place. She didn’t want even a gust of wind to come up. She certainly didn’t want Elliott to move at all. But before she could give voice to her horror, he slithered his body backward until he turned and moved in three long breaths to the very back of the cart. The cart bobbled up and down. Natalie stifled another scream. The cart seemed to find a more secure resting place, and the headlights rose slightly into higher air.
“Okay, now you,” he said.
“I c-c-can’t, Elliott.”
“Just try. The weight is back here now. You’ll feel it as soon as you turn toward me. I’ll grab your hand and pull you.”
She leaned her body back as far as the seat would allow, shaking with every inch. The feeling seemed to come back into her legs, and she swung them—very, very slowly—toward the back. When the cart didn’t seem to shift forward, she finally relaxed some weight onto her right leg, then swung her left and threw her weight in one swift move to the back seats. Elliott caught her arm as she was in motion. She froze when the cart bobbled, and they both waited for it to stop. Finally the headlights rose even farther, level now with the ground. Her heart seemed to start beating again.
“Now step off,” he whispered.
Fear seized her again. “What will happen to you?” she said into the still air. She was afraid to turn toward him.
“I’ll be fine.” His hand gripped her elbow, and he directed her toward the side of the cart. She hesitated, stepping once toward the ground to see if the cart would bob forward. It dipped slightly.
“Elliott, no! You’ll go over.”
“I won’t. I’ll be right behind you—I promise.”
He didn’t look as though he was going to be right behind her. He looked as if he was holding down the back for her. She was so worried the cart would take him over the edge. But his voice was calm, and she decided to trust that he would know the physics of this situation.
“Okay, I’m going to step off now,” she whispered.
The crickets trilled in the bushes surrounding the back of the cart, making the night seem so much calmer than it was. Natalie glanced back at Elliott once more. His eyes were steady on her, and he nodded once.
She stepped off slowly, hoping not to rock the cart, but as soon as her last foot left the floorboard, she felt the vehicle teeter. She whirled around to scream, but Elliott was, indeed, right behind her. He threw his arm across her back and brought them both to the ground. The cart groaned forward, stilled for a second, then careened down the side of the mountain. Its fiberglass side was punched in at the first rock. After two bumps, it toppled over and tumbled the rest of the way into the canyon. Branches snapped, dust flew, bangs echoed, and then, finally, everything stilled.
They stood and looked over the canyon in the eerie silence. Finally the crickets started trilling again.
Natalie began shivering uncontrollably. Her legs wobbled. She started to sink to the ground.
“Hey now,” Elliott said, dragging her back up. He held her elbows as he let her find her balance. She wanted to lean into him—let him hold her, let herself shake, let his body warmth seep all the way through her until she calmed.
But just as she shifted her weight to allow herself to step into his arms, his eyes went up over her shoulder. His whole body stiffened.
“Easy, boy,” he said quietly.
Natalie took three long seconds to turn her head. The bison’s enormous woolly-brown head and two half-hooded brown eyes stared in their direction, as if he was watching how the night’s events might go. His white horns twisted once, then pointed back toward them. He snorted, and his entire body shook.
“Walk slowly and deliberately, but don’t look like a threat.” Elliott put his arm around Natalie’s shoulders and directed her to the side.
They took long, slow, smooth steps until they’d walked about a hundred feet and around two more bends. Elliott never looked back. After their shoes had crunched the gravel about another fifty paces, he finally looked over his shoulder and brought them to a gradual stop.
He put his hands on Natalie’s shoulders and turned her toward him.
As if all the adrenaline had finally slipped away, her legs began to shake. Tears felt like they were pressing against a dam in the back of her head.
“It’s okay,” he said.
That was all it took—Elliott’s soft voice, his reassuring words, his sheltering arms—and her tears burst out as she dove into his shoulder.
Elliott pulled her toward him.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.”
They stood that way for a long time, holding each other in the darkness and the fog, Elliott running his hand down the locks that had come undone, rubbing her back. He pulled her head into the crook of his neck and let her cry.
Her mascara and lipstick left stains all over his shirt, but he felt so good—so safe—that she allowed herself to sniffle for another five minutes, releasing all the fear, all the panic, all the worry she’d been feeling, possibly for fifteen years. She’d always felt she had to protect herself, and had put herself with men who looked as if they could protect her. But they never could, and they’d never had the concern for her that Elliott seemed to have right now. It felt so good to be held this way, by a man who could be gentle with her, who wanted to calm her, who seemed to want her to be truly safe.
He stroked her hair again. She felt him kiss the top of her forehead.
And then she sniffled, hesitated, and caught his lips with hers.
Elliott felt the warmest lips he’d ever known in his life slide across his, and he started at first but then leaned in and welcomed her.
Her body was so pliant, now sliding against his, and his hands felt like homing beacons, quickly finding their way into her hair, holding her close to position her so he could kiss her as thoroughly as he’d been wanting to. He pressed further, taking a step back with her, wanting to absorb her, be inside her, be part of her, protect her, as they backed up against a sharp outcropping. His hand came out to block her from the granite as his lips explored hers, resting her back slowly so he could enjoy this, take her, move his hands down to—
“Wait.” Natalie lifted her palms against his chest.
He pulled back, panting, his brain not quite able to catch up with his libido.
“I can’t do this,” she said, pushing tendrils of hair off her face. “I—I’m on a mancation, Elliott. I can’t . . .” She shoved past him and stepped back onto the road, standing there with her arms wrapped around herself.
He took five rapid breaths and sent a slew of curse words through his head.
Natalie looked at him, her eyes filled with remorse. “Elliott, that wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean to do that. That wasn’t a kiss.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No.”
“I’d say it was quite a kiss.”
“No. It wasn’t. I was just . . . reacting to all that.” She waved her hand back toward the bison and the fallen cart. “And my fear was just coming out, and . . . comfort, really. That was comfort.”
Elliott took a small step back. His body was on fire right now, his body parts all at full attention. Damned if that was just comfort. But she was saying no.
“And . . .” She waved her hand in a frustra
ted windmill. “You have your date tonight. You have to get back to Becky.”
Damn it. He’d nearly forgotten about Becky. He wanted to stay here. He would stay here—on this road, in the dark, in the cool night air—for the rest of his life if it meant he could hold this woman in his arms like that, feel her hair fall out of her 1940s pins and across his forearms, feel her body soften against his, feel her relax into his chest. Just like that.
“Natalie,” he whispered. He didn’t really know where he was going with the next thought. His thoughts were completely muddled, but mostly he knew he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want anyone else. And he wanted Natalie with every ounce of his soul.
But she started hustling down the road.
“Where are you going?”
“We have to get back. We have to get you to your date. Don’t think that . . . That didn’t mean anything, okay? That was just—”
He frowned. “Comfort?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
They walked swiftly down the road in silence, Elliott two or three steps behind her, thinking about what the hell had just happened. He had to calm himself. He had the urge to reach out right now and whirl her toward him, yank her back into his arms, kiss her the way he wanted to—kiss her the way she’d been kissing him.
But no was no.
And she’d clearly made up her mind, given the dust flying off her shoes as she scurried away.
“You know it’s two miles down this mountain, right?” he called.
“We’ll survive. If we could survive”—her hand waved again—“that, then I think we can survive a little walk down a mountain.”
They walked another quarter of a mile in silence, Elliott cursing himself a hundred ways through his head, wondering if he’d pushed too much, if he’d not pushed enough, if he was an asshole for kissing this woman he desperately wanted against a rock outcropping on a foggy, deserted road while another woman, whom he didn’t want, was waiting for him in her bed.
He shoved his hand through his hair, then slowed as Natalie turned toward him.
“Elliott, we survived that.” She grinned.
Her sass was back. Her bravado was back. Gone was the woman who’d crumpled in his arms, who’d held him tight. Gone was the woman who was vulnerable to him for a minute. Gone was the one who let him protect her, who brought him out of his worry that he wouldn’t be courageous enough in the right circumstances, who made him feel brave and courageous and strong. Gone was the woman who’d kissed him.
But his mind stilled for a second on the courageous part. Who knew that all that adrenaline would kick in and allow him to think straight and stay calm when he had someone he needed to protect? He was relieved and grateful—to God, to the universe, to Natalie herself. He breathed a sigh of relief and felt like a changed man.
He started following her again, following the dust flying up behind her USO shoes. He even managed a smile as she reached back and pulled all the loose tendrils of hair into a twist, shoving them under her cap with some pins.
He’d done that to her.
And damned if that kiss was nothing.
Damned if that kiss was comfort.
Her argument did serve to soothe their consciences—his regarding Becky and hers regarding her bet—but she’d kissed him.
But he chose to join her in denial and kept marching down the hill.
CHAPTER 18
“How am I going to explain this to Olivia?” Natalie asked to the crunching of her shoes along the gravel, right next to Elliott’s.
They were nearly at the bottom now, and Natalie was exhausted. Her USO costume was rumpled and dirty and torn at the sleeve. Her shoe strap was broken from when they’d fallen in the dirt, and the heel was wobbling. Her hat was falling off, and her makeup was probably all over her face, her lipstick eaten off from chewing her lip all the way down the mountain and wondering how she was going to explain this to everyone.
But, man, explain she’d have to.
She’d have to tell Olivia about her cart. She’d have to come up with several thousand dollars and a plan to pay her back. She’d have to explain to Paige about that kiss and how it wouldn’t end their bet. She might have to explain to Becky about that kiss and how she wasn’t getting in the way. And mostly she had to explain to herself about that kiss. And what honestly drove it, and how she was not getting attached to Elliott Sherman—tears, hugs, gratitude, return kiss, and attraction to his dancing jaw muscles notwithstanding.
Maybe if she said it to herself enough times she’d believe it.
“We can call an insurance company in the morning,” Elliott said.
“We?”
“Or you. I can help. And I can help you pay for it, if you need.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I want to help.”
Natalie shot him a glance. He probably did. Elliott was too sweet for words, and all she could do was deny everything about him, including how she was falling for him by the minute. Those moments earlier—the moment he’d saved her out of the golf cart, the moment he’d moved her around the bison, the way he’d let her cling to him and cry into his shirt, the way his hand had felt cradling the back of her head, the way he’d kissed with a talent that curled her toes—those were all too close to a flame.
Natalie had felt herself falling—into him, into his arms, into his chest, into a fire of feeling she didn’t want to observe too closely because it felt too scary and raw. She’d never let herself be so vulnerable with another human being—and especially a man she didn’t know very well—and it was causing all her self-preservation tactics to go on high alert. She felt she’d been too close to another kind of dangerous ledge—not just the one the cart had teetered on but one that would take her heart over the edge, knock it around on some rocks, and dump it into the canyon below. She knew she needed to distance herself.
“I’ll handle it,” she said.
Elliott was so different from the men she’d known in the past, the dates that had flashed and burned. Those were actual dates, and usually a spontaneous combustion of sorts, with lots of lust fueling them but no feeling. And when the lust ended—the need satiated, the curiosity filled—there was nothing left.
But with Elliott, things were different. It was a slowly growing attraction. She was filled with so much feeling toward him—tenderness, care, the need to protect him from bad girlfriends and bad dates. And every time there was a physical touch, her feelings became more intense, not less. The kinder he got, the sexier he got. Each new feeling, each new thing she learned about him, each new link of connection made him more and more attractive to her. And, from there, each touch came alive with a thousand new volts.
Pressing in with the terror of being too close to feelings she didn’t know what to do with, she also felt shame for her earlier driving bravado and the fact that she could have gotten him killed.
She just wanted to get away from him right now and not look him in the eye. Her emotions were all over the place.
“I’m just going to cut through here, at the bottom of the hill,” she said.
“I’m absolutely not letting you walk home all by yourself like this. Let’s get my cart. It’s only two blocks that way.”
“I’m fine.” She started in the direction she wanted.
“Natalie, stop.” He frowned at her. “What’s wrong? What happened in the last five minutes?”
She couldn’t let her eyes rest on how sexy and protective he looked right now. And she didn’t want her gaze to fall anywhere near his lips.
“Nothing,” she said, directing her attention to a night-blooming jasmine plant. “I’m just . . . tired. And glad you’re okay. And glad I’m okay. And I could’ve gotten us killed. And I’m sorry. And I just want to go home.”
“Please let me take you home.”
“But it’s right there.” She
pointed lamely.
“Then we’ll both walk.”
She rolled her eyes and started for her back alleyway. If he wanted to follow her, fine. He’d have to walk all the way back to his cart if he did, but that was his call.
She stomped to Olivia’s place—around the back fence, down the alleyway, past the old tin garbage cans put out for the week, past Mrs. Freeman’s cat hiding in the oleander bush, past the trellis of morning glories that were all closed up for the night, past the gerbera daisies she’d planted just this morning. Elliott was still behind her.
She’d never had a man follow her all the way home before to make sure she got there safely. Even though she’d always selected big, tough-looking men to scare off the leering ones, their size and bluster tended to be for show. When it came to truly caring about her well-being—like whether or not she got home safely—they were nowhere to be found. Or they were still in the bar trying to pick another fight, caring more about how they looked to other men than her.
Natalie sighed as she and Elliott arrived at Olivia’s back door.
“Thank you,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later.” She jiggled the handle the way they always did to be let into the cottage, and slipped inside.
She just wanted to get away from her feelings, away from this night, away from Elliott’s sincere protectiveness, away from his velvet lips, and especially away from his confused, half-lidded eyes.
Elliott wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened, or what he’d done wrong, but he knew it was something. He watched Natalie slide through her sister’s barely opened door without so much as a backward glance, noted the gerbera daisies he’d given her that were now planted by the doorway, and turned to stare out into the night.
He headed for his golf cart and replayed the last half hour in his head. Why had she quieted down like that? He hadn’t said anything much in the last ten minutes, so it couldn’t have been something he said. But, then again, maybe that was the problem—maybe it was something he didn’t say? But what would that be? How should he have known? Did other men know? Would the Colonel have known? Would John-O? It must be something obvious because she looked awfully pissed.
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