Will glanced sideways. Anne had scooted to her knees on the mattress and was leaning forward, her body language fraught with tension. "Anne, relax. I survived."
She gave him a quick smile but returned to her scrutiny. "Your father looks upset about something."
Will eyed the screen. He didn't remember this part. Had Esther fast-forwarded the tape for some reason?
He turned up the volume to catch what his father was saying. His was a voice he couldn't remember hearing in real life. "Pay attention to me when I'm talking to you, son. Do you want to win or not?"
"Johnny, let it go," a woman said off camera. "He's just a little boy. He did his best."
"Stay out of this, woman. This is between me and my son. If he wants to represent the Cavanaugh name in rodeo, he needs to do it right so he wins. We don't have room for losers in the family. Ain't that right, Will?"
The screen went blue, but not before Will saw the child's face barely visible beneath the brim of his big black hat. Cheeks streaked with tears, lip trembling, but chin set stubbornly. Obviously trying hard not to show his pain. No room for losers.
"That seemed a bit harsh. Do you remember it?"
"Nope," Will answered truthfully. "I barely remember either one of my folks. They were on the road a lot of the time and I stayed with A.J. and Grandma or my mom's aunt in Chico. I was here when the call came from the state troopers."
Thank goodness, he thought he heard her whisper.
"I remember the funeral, though. Grandma told me I couldn't swing on the tire because that would insult their memory." So Will had hidden under the porch. That was how he overheard a man say something about John's "problem." Will had listened closely, thinking they were talking about him, but another man argued that “John Cavanaugh drove better drunk than most men drive sober."
Will frowned. I wonder if that was true. He'd have to ask A.J. when he got home.
Anne touched his shoulder. "How soon after that did you start riding bulls?"
"Most of that winter, Grandma was sick. A.J. rigged up a bucking barrel for me in the barn. Gave me something to do and kept us both out of the house. I think he needed it as much as I did."
"Was he hoping you'd follow in your father's footsteps?"
Will shook his head. "No. I don't think he wanted that. In fact, he tried to get me interested in helping with the ranch, but I had my mind set. I was going to be a rodeo cowboy, like my dad."
She took a breath and let it out. "I guess I can understand why you'd want to follow in his footsteps, but why bulls? It's so dangerous."
"Danger is relative. When you're young, eight seconds on the back of a bull sounds like a breeze. Unfortunately, by the time you get some sense knocked into you, you're hooked."
"On what? The rush?"
"I guess you could call it that."
"You're going back to it, aren't you?"
He nodded.
"As soon as A.J. gets home?"
"If I can get my doctor to sign off on my medical release. He'll probably want to run a few tests, take some X rays."
"Of your head?"
Had she heard something? "What do you mean?"
She made a funny face and shook her head. Her silky hair bounced about her jaw in a provocative way. "Anyone would have to have a screw loose to ride bulls."
Will let go of the breath he'd been holding. "Never said I wasn't crazy."
She went still, then lifted her hand and touched his lips. "Are you crazy enough to get involved with me?"
"Of all the risky, insane things I've done in my life, Anne, making love with you feels pretty rational by comparison. Is that what you're asking me to do?"
Will waited until she nodded before pulling her into his arms. "Then the answer is yes."
Chapter 11
A thousand thoughts crashed through Anne's head the moment he kissed her. I love him.
This was my mother's bed.
Are the windows open?
What if I cry out his name?
He's even more handsome than he was in high school.
Are my teeth brushed?
The question she hadn't meant to ask popped out. "Is this wrong?"
Will moved off the bed to face her. He tilted his head and gave her a smile she'd only seen once or twice--a little-boy grin that almost broke her heart. "Probably. Do you want me to leave?"
The smart answer was yes, but Anne was sick of making the so-called smart choice. She wanted to feel. To experience. To ride horseback like her daughter, splash in the pool, try the spicy salsa instead of the mild. Make love with Will--her most enduring dream.
"I want you to stay."
He stepped close enough for Anne to feel a connection so tangible she could almost see it shimmering in the silvery cast of the television. His gaze caressed her face, her body. "Please," she added.
One corner of his mouth curved upward but still he remained a step away. "Are you always this polite?"
His tone implied a challenge. Anne had to smile. He knew her well. "Sometimes, I ask. Sometimes, I take. Which do you prefer?"
The serious look in his eyes lightened. He wet his lips and gave her that cowboy nod she adored. "Can't say without giving both ways a try."
Anne closed the distance between them. "Then I guess it's up to me to make an executive decision." She grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled him to her. Nose-to-nose, she told him, "Take off your clothes and get in bed."
"Yes, ma'am. Soon as you let go of my buttons." Humor twinkled in his eyes, which had taken on a smoky gray-blue hue.
Anne released her grip and moved back to watch the slow, sexy process of a man's hand working each small white button free. When he reached his waistline, he yanked the fabric from his jeans and completed the process.
No undershirt. Just bare, tanned flesh and an inviting thatch of dark curls nestled between his well-molded pecs. Is his body hair silky or springy? Her fingers itched to find out.
"Speaking of buttons, where's that remote?" Anne spotted it on the bed. She reached for it, but Will was faster. He pushed the OFF button, plunging the room into momentary darkness.
Anne blinked, trying to focus. A soft pinkish glow from the adjoining bathroom gave them enough light to navigate by. It was a gentle light that might hide various imperfections. And while there were many on the man who shrugged off his shirt and let it fall to the floor, Anne knew they were all superficial.
His big, strong-looking hands worked his leather belt free of its impressive buckle. He laid it across the footstool of the nearby chair, then undid the button at the waistband of his jeans.
Anne's throat dried up with anticipation.
He tugged on the zipper, making an accommodating wiggle to avoid the bulge pressing against the fabric.
White cotton briefs, she thought with a secret smile. She'd wondered.
He moved to the side of the bed and sat down to remove his boots. Anne couldn't resist touching the broad expanse of back when he leaned over. Warm as the soil in her garden at noon. She ran her fingers along the curve of his spine.
"I like this light," he said. "Maybe you won't be distracted by my scars."
Her sensitive fingertips paused on a raised notch. She leaned over to kiss it. "We both have scars," she murmured. "Yours are just easier to spot."
His boots hit the floor in quick succession then he half turned to face her. Quick as lightening, he pulled her across his lap so her shoulders were resting in the curve of his left arm. As her brain registered the fact that she was safe, that he wouldn't let her fall, she relaxed.
He lowered his head to kiss her exposed shoulder, setting off a shiver of exquisite anticipation. "Will you show me yours?"
Anne's heart stuttered. No one had ever asked her that. Could she talk about her past? Her failed marriage? Her missed opportunities to be a better daughter and mother? Yes. But now wasn't the time. This was about feeling. "Show and tell comes later. This is about taking." She looped her arms around his neck and pull
ed him closer. "And giving." Her tongue tickled the corner of his mouth. "Satisfaction."
He snickered softly. "I love the way your mind works." He teased her lips with tiny kisses that made her hungry for more. "Almost as much as I love the way your body feels in my arms." His free hand trailed down the outside of her ribcage to her hip.
When he flexed his arm to pull her closer, Anne felt the sinewy strength controlled for her benefit. And she couldn't wait to push the boundaries of that control.
She wiggled off his lap. With what she hoped was a provocative smile, she walked to the other side of the bed and knelt on the mattress across from him. Will turned to face her.
She beckoned him with a sultry "come here" motion.
"Minus the pants, please."
Will stood, jeans riding low on his hip, the discernible outline of his arousal visible. "I don't want to seem picky, but why are you fully dressed when I'm naked?"
No guts, no glory. Anne gripped the hem of her tank top, closed her eyes and yanked the shirt off. She kept it clutched in her right hand as she sank back on her calves. She'd never felt more naked, even when posing nude for Eduardo.
Then she opened her eyes and saw Will's face. His lips were parted as if in wonder. When his gaze met hers, he smiled. Broadly. "You are a woman of many surprises. And breathless beauty."
The hunger in his eyes gave Anne permission to let go. Sex was a complication she'd told herself she didn't need. She was wrong. The desire she read in his look made her feel more alive than she had in years.
His pants hit the floor and he leaned down to remove his socks. When he straightened, Anne looked at him. Her breath lodged in her throat when she realized he'd removed his shorts at the same time. "I'll second that," she said in a strangled voice. A spike of heat hit her cheeks, when she realized that hadn't come out right. "I mean, you. You're full of surprises, too. Wonderful...big surprises."
Will's low hoot was the release she needed to move. Shorts flew. Underwear followed. Covers were drawn back. "Hurry," she urged, surprised to find him still standing in the same spot.
"Why?" He peeled back his half of the bedding then knelt on the edge of the mattress in a predatory fashion. "Please, don't tell me we're on the clock."
Anne brushed her bangs out of her eyes and sank into the foam pillows. She modestly pulled the corner of the sheet over her breasts. "No. No clocks," she said, her voice going higher as he stalked toward her. Lion to lioness. Predator to prey. "In fact, you'd better last longer than eight seconds or..."
His bark of laughter cut off her threat. Anne wasn't worried. If she lasted eight seconds she'd be lucky. She felt very close to burning up just looking into the fathomless depths of his eyes. She'd never wanted a man more, needed his touch with the kind of intense desire that threatened to consume her.
Now she wanted to shout. Touch me. Make me feel all the things that have been missing from my life.
When he was over her--one hand on the headboard behind her head, the other beside her hip--he paused to stare into her eyes. "I want you, Anne. More than I've ever wanted any woman."
Her heart did a little flip. Her throat was too tight to talk so she let her lips send the message. I feel the same way about you. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. She closed her eyes to experience every single nuance. His wonderful, masculine smell. His amazingly taut muscles. His hands, roughened from work, but hot and tender.
Will's touch made her feel centered and focused in a way her career never did. At this moment Anne was in control of her destiny. And, for the first time ever, she felt brave enough to share that power with the man she loved.
Eight seconds or eight hours? Will wasn't sure he could tell the difference. Time ceased to become relevant the moment their lips met. This kiss was different from earlier kisses. Naked bodies. Crisp cotton sheets. Honest desire without any of the defensive posturing of the past few weeks.
This wasn't a kiss to seduce. It was a kiss of the seduced. Will understood that he and Anne were giving in to their mutual needs. But he hoped--no, he believed--their feelings ran deeper than mere lust. He wanted to bring Anne satisfaction, to make this experience good for her. She'd told him she hadn't made love in a long time. He planned to make up for that. He'd start by tasting every part of her--toes first.
He swept aside the sheet that hid her loveliness.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking."
"Taking what?"
"My time."
She groaned and reached out as if to draw him back. Her hand accidentally brushed against his arousal and Will flinched. Maybe the toes will have to wait.
He placed his hand on her belly. A darker image superimposed on a perfect white background. "No bikini for you, I see," he said, making a slow, provocative circle with his thumb stroking the underside of her breasts.
"Left it home. In the drawer. Wasn't expecting a pool. Or a man."
Her honesty touched him. She hadn't planned for this to happen any more than he had. "If we had a real pool, we could be skinny-dipping," he told her.
"We might get caught."
"That's half the fun."
Resting his left hand on the mattress beside her waist, he used his right to cup her breasts--first one, then the other. "I picture you floating on your back. Arms outstretched above your head. Your breasts would rise and fall with each intake. Giving me time to kiss them.” Her lungs filled and he lowered his head. "And taste." He suckled until she let out a soft moan.
"Yes. Gotta get a pool," she said, writhing with pleasure. "Next year."
Will looked up. Her eyes were closed, head back, one hand gripping the metal headboard. Was that the passion talking or had her plans changed? He'd overheard her mention returning to the Silver Rose next year when she was talking to A.J., but surely she wasn't serious about a repeat stay. And why did it matter? He'd be back on the circuit in full swing by then, hopefully closing in on the title. He couldn't think that far ahead, nor did he want to. Right now, all he wanted to focus on was pleasing Anne.
He let his hand slide downward. She went still and opened her eyes. In the shadowy light, he could read both her desire and her nervousness. "I won't hurt you, Anne."
She sucked in her bottom lip. A Zoey look. It reminded him that there were all kinds of hurt. "I know, Will. We both have things to lose, but we're not going to think about that right now, okay?"
An echo of the voice he'd heard on the video chimed in his head: "You're not a loser, are you, boy?"
As if sensing something was wrong, Anne reached out and closed her hand around him. Heat shot through his veins on a burst of yearning. Their gazes met as she manipulated her wrist in a provocative dance that overrode the hurtful voices.
Here and now.
Anne.
Love.
He closed his eyes, reveling in her touch. And the truth.
Even though neither had said the words aloud, Will knew she loved him, too. That made him a winner. For the night, at least.
A.J. didn't know what he'd expected, but the Atlantic Ocean didn't impress him. He and Esther had visited California's Big Sur on their honeymoon. Now, that was an ocean. Rocky coast, rugged spires sticking up to send foaming white waves crashing skyward.
The part of the coast closest to Esther's old hometown was anything but dramatic. The terrain was flat. There were marshes that he'd had to circle past to find the proper outcropping on a point--a place that appealed to him for its distance from houses and people and boats.
He'd made an obligatory stop at her parent's resting place early that morning. In truth he'd never forgiven the bitter old couple for voicing such fervent opposition to their daughter's marriage. Not that he blamed them for being upset that she planned to move so far away. He could understand that. But little birds left the nest. That was the way Nature planned it. Their harsh prediction that Esther would fall into a den of iniquity with a bunch of gamblers was so far from the truth it bordered on the ludicr
ous.
Through Esther's persistent efforts, the gulf between them had been repaired, with Anne's help. But A.J. had never felt comfortable around the older couple.
That was the past, he told himself. Now, he was here to give their daughter back to them. And, God help him, A.J. wasn't sure he could do it. The bronze box on the rock beside him was still sealed. His face and fingers felt numb, even though sunrise had brought a modicum of warmth with it. Low, gray clouds--fog, he presumed--remained poised on the horizon, ready to sweep in and whisk him out to sea.
Gulls cried as they careened overhead, perhaps wondering if his shiny box held something of interest. In the distance, the high-pitched squeals of children taking a morning walk with their parents mingled with the persistent crash of waves against the odd-colored rocks on the point.
"I suppose this is it, old girl," he said, drawing the bronze box onto his lap. "Time to you-know-what or get off the pot."
He smiled as he patted the top of the box. Esther had always hated that phrase. She claimed it was her first husband's favorite saying. A.J. had never resented the man who'd shared Esther's youth, and he knew Esther felt the same about Peg. As a couple, their life together was a combination of who they were before they met and who they became after they married. A.J. was a better man for having known Esther. A happier man. He'd laughed more in her company than he'd ever thought possible.
"I will miss you something fierce, honey girl," he whispered hugging the box tightly. Tears clustered in his eyes and his nose started to run. He had to loosen his grip to reach into his shirt pocket for his handkerchief.
I know, old man, he thought he heard Esther say. I miss you, too, but it won't be long till we're together again.
A.J. had had this conversation with his imagination for the past thousand miles. Once he crossed the Mississippi, he'd felt a heavy weight settle into his bones. He'd stalled for weeks in the mid-Atlantic states, pretending it was what Esther would have wanted. More than once he'd started to turn back so he could bury her ashes at the Silver Rose.
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