“Spending so much time on the ranch, it must be wonderful to get away. To come to someplace like Denver and — ”
“I’m not in Denver to get away. I came to learn more about cross-breeding. Couldn’t connect with these people if I stay on the Slash-C.”
“But you must be having fun here, outside the stock show. Sight-seeing, and — No? Then what were you doing?”
“Spent all day at the stock show. Meals with folks from the stock show. Then back to the hotel and read in my room.”
“Read?”
“About changes in breeding. That’s why I came back to the hotel Wednesday afternoon — to get an article I’d promised to another rancher.”
“Ed, that’s awful. Your first time —”
“Not my first time in Denver. I’ve been to a fair number of cities. Guess you could say this isn’t my first rodeo.” The humor glint was back. “Rodeo took me around a fair bit, college and after.”
“So, you got to know these cities then? Explored and enjoyed them?”
“I wasn’t there to explore and enjoy. I was there to rodeo. Kept my focus on that.”
She frowned. “Focus can go too far. You need to have fun.”
“What makes you think breeding cattle isn’t fun?”
He waggled his eyebrows, and she squinted fiercely. “You’re a tease, Ed Currick. I’m not going to take anything you say seriously ever again.”
The waiter came up to the table with the bill then, but Ed held her look.
“Oh, there’re some things I say you should take very seriously.”
****
Donna gave a guilty start when Ed squeezed her hand. She’d been thinking about Thursday night’s kiss, and wondering about tonight.
“What’s that you’re humming?” he asked. “It’s not from the show. I know those.” He hummed a couple bars. Not well. It took a moment for her to catch the tune.
“Oh. ‘Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off’ from a Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers movie.”
“How come you know all these old movies?”
“Mom saw them with her mom. Now, when they’re on TV we make popcorn, sing the songs, speak the lines, and do some of the dancing. When I was little, I pestered Mom and Dad for lessons so I could dance like Ginger Rogers and that started the whole thing.”
“A family legacy.”
“Yes. You might know this song. He says po-tay-to, and she says pah-ta-to — or maybe the other way around. And to-may-to, to-mah-to. Then comes the title line, ‘Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off.’ ”
“Yeah, that’s familiar.”
“But a couple lines later the song says they’d be heartbroken if they call it off.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what?”
“Um. They decide not to — call it off, I mean.”
His eyes darkened with heat. “Sounds like a good call.”
She looked away. “Works in the movie.”
They’d walked several more blocks before she said, “You’re back to being silent.”
He got that solemn look he’d had before they left the restaurant. “Don’t want to scare you.”
“You just did.”
He smiled quickly. “Fair enough.”
“Why would you scare me?”
“Because it scares me.”
“What does?”
“How I feel about you.”
“Oh.” At least that’s what she tried to say, but it had no breath behind it, only the forming of her lips. He looked at her mouth, and she felt her diaphragm contract, and heat sweep down from it to her belly, leaving a trail of sparks.
“You looked like this that first day,” she started, without any knowledge that’s what she was going to say. “With your mouth smiling, but your eyes so serious — not unhappy, but intense.”
“First moment I saw you in the lobby. I saw . . . ”
“What?”
“You,” he said, the rasp of his voice like a touch on her nerve-endings.
Yet there was more he wasn’t telling her. And she wasn’t asking.
He lowered his head. “I saw you,” he repeated.
His mouth on hers was neither chaste nor soft.
She gasped at the power of the demand his lips made, and his tongue swept into her mouth with a stroke she felt in her core.
Her knees half sagged. His arm around her back not only held her, but brought her even tighter against him.
She brushed a palm across his cheek on the way to wrapping her arms around his neck, and felt a jolt through him, and marveled. Such a simple touch.
But if it was so simple, then why was she spinning . . . spinning . . . with nothing real around her to anchor her and keep the spin from consuming her balance.
Something firm against her back stopped the spinning. Except for in her head.
Oh. A wall. A wall was behind her. He’d brought them into a recessed doorway. It was dimmer here. Warmer out of the wind.
No, not warmer. Hot. Hot.
His hand under her sweater and shirt. Up her side. The heat of that touch. So very hot. And so close. But not . . .
She turned into it. Yes. Yes.
Her fingers opening his coat, his shirt, seeking him.
His hands holding her, cupping her. Unhooking. Then pushing aside the remaining fabric, the softest scratch of lace across her beaded, sensitized nipple. Then . . . oh, yes.
“Yes.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Friday night
No.
As desperately as he wanted to . . . No.
Ranching would send a pessimistic man around the bend. But ranching also required pragmatism and an ability to face facts squarely.
He’d faced the facts here. Even if he hadn’t been able to walk away yet.
Donna wanted what she had up on that stage and that was one thing he couldn’t give her.
So why hadn’t he left? Why wasn’t he ending this right now?
It would hurt less than letting it go on, wouldn’t it? Less for him and for her. Sense said it would. And he’d always had good sense.
She moved against him.
Through layers of clothing still covering them, he felt his body surge with the need to find that spot in her that would hold him. Hold him so rightly. He knew that.
But it wasn’t only that. It was what he’d seen in her eyes that first moment in the lobby of the hotel. What he hadn’t told her. Might never tell another living soul.
She moved again.
Between them they had created their own cocoon of heat. If there were nothing between them —
“We have to stop, Donna.” He drew back as far as he could bear.
She followed. Her lips brushed one corner of his. “Do we?”
“Yes.”
“We, uh . . . I mean, I have a roommate, but your room.”
He groaned.
“Is that a yes?” Her teasing didn’t quite come off.
Because she wasn’t sure. She wanted to, but she wasn’t sure.
“No,” he said.
She ducked her head, and the shift in position allowed cold to sweep into their cocoon. He drew her flush against him, and kissed her. Delved his tongue inside her mouth, and kissed her with more power and intent than he’d allowed himself before, until the stupid limits of the human body required him to release her long enough to suck in oxygen.
“No,” he repeated, partly to himself.
“Your mouth says no, but your body says something else.” Again, her teasing had a hitch in it.
“My body says I’m a damned idiot. But my mind’s connected to my mouth.” He looked down at her, knowing she would see what he felt, at least a little.
And as he knew it would, it made her draw back. Just a little. Just enough.
He tugged at her top, not bothering with the bra, but pulling the hem down on her shirt and sweater so she was covered, then grabbed the sides of her coat and wrapped them tightly around her, careful not to brush her body beneath the coat.
&nbs
p; That let cold air flood in against his heated chest, and regions barely contained by his jeans, but he needed that. He needed it bad.
“Ed,” she said abruptly. “Where were you sitting tonight?”
“What?”
“Where were you sitting in the theater?”
She made it sound like something important, though he didn’t see it. “Left side, about halfway back.”
“Oh.” A second of relaxing, then she tightened up again. “Wait. Left side from front of house, or left from the stage?”
“Left from where I came in with other people.”
“Oh.”
There was more in those two letters than he could hope to understand. “Why?”
She ignored that. “And last night?”
“What’s this about?”
“Last night?” she repeated.
“Near the center aisle. Tenth row I think.”
“Were you at the matinee Thursday?”
“No.”
She gave a sort of groan. But it didn’t sound bad enough to keep him from his more immediate concerns.
“C’mon, I’m getting you back to the hotel. Back to your room.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sunday
Last night, they’d parted once again with an audience at the elevator. This time not even kissing. Instead, a long look acknowledged memories of really kissing each other, and not chastely at all.
They’d agreed to have brunch before she left for the theater for today’s matinee and he attended the stock show’s closing day.
He was eating a hearty breakfast. Eggs and sausage and potatoes and tomatoes and biscuits. A cowboy breakfast, he’d said.
Had to on a ranch, he’d explained. Talking about early rising to tend to animals that didn’t believe in sleeping in. Talking about how the first break of the day was to refuel a body that had already had more demands on it than many people experienced in a week.
“We seem to spend all our time eating,” he said.
“Not a lot of free time first week, and with all the shows . . .” She shrugged.
“You need the fuel, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
She picked up a triangle of toast. He was right. Closing day of the stock show was not all that would keep them apart today. Two performances, too. Was there a chance they could be together tonight before he left tomorrow?
Closing day. . . Leaving tomorrow.
She put the toast down and closed her eyes. She’d cried last night. Lying in bed, tears slipping down the side of her face and into her pillow. Not knowing if she was crying because she wasn’t making love with him. Or because he was the kind of man who would try to protect her.
And wondering which of those elements was behind her sensing where he was in the theater each time he’d been there.
No, not sensing. Knowing. Like a plant turning to the sun. Like a plant about to be cut off from the sun forev —
“Donna?”
She pretended great interest in spreading grape jelly on her toast. She didn’t like grape jelly. “Uh-huh?”
“I’ll stay a few a days longer if you’d like me to.”
Her head snapped up.
If she’d like him to ?
He blinked, as if facing a bright light, but didn’t look away. And it didn’t make sense anyway, because he was the sun, not her. Oh, hell, what did that stuff matter now?
“That’s wonderful, Ed. How long? How long can you stay?”
“As long as you’re here.”
“Really?” Her heart tripped, then sprinted ahead. There would be hours and hours together. Not just snatches, but all of tomorrow, and then whole afternoons . . .
“But . . . but you wanted to get back to the Slash-C.”
“I don’t know if I could leave while you’re here.”
He didn’t sound entirely happy, but he was staying. She’d concentrate on that certainty, put aside the fogginess of what he might be thinking.
“I thought Monday we’d drive up to the mountains,” he said. “Spend the day, let you see them up close.”
“Oh, Ed, that’s so thoughtful of you.”
“Good. We’ll leave as early as—”
“No, wait. I have something else I’d rather do. I mean if it’s okay. Would you take me to the stock show? Unless — Are there places in Denver you haven’t had a chance to see? I was reading about — but not tomorrow. Tomorrow I’d like to learn about ranching — at least cattle. So would you take me to the stock show? I know this is the last day, but will everything be gone by tomorrow?”
His brows drew together, as if he were viewing something he hadn’t seen before. “I guess not. But they’ll be breaking things down, packing up, pulling out.”
“Perfect! You can see so many things when we’re striking.”
“Striking?”
“Closing up the show for a move. Definitely see lots when we’re packing — or unpacking. You see the real workings and — what?”
His expression was shifting to that smile she loved, with an added dash of humor. “I never considered that. Don’t know if you’re right or not, but I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow. But are you sure? You haven’t seen the Rockies.”
“There’ll be more mountains.” But she would never have another chance to spend a day with Ed Currick in his world.
****
I’ll stay a few a days longer if you’d like me to.
Good God, what had possessed him?
Like he needed to ask. She had. Sitting across from her, and knowing that even if she’d said, “No, go on home and get started on being without me forever,” he wouldn’t have gone.
I don’t know if I could leave while you’re here.
That was the truth of it.
He sat in the lobby phone booth. No use putting it off any longer. He placed the call.
His father answered with the usual, “Slash-C.”
He felt a constriction in his throat, immediate, and completely unexpected.
“Dad. It’s Ed.”
“Ed. Your mother will be sorry to have missed your call.”
“I wanted to let you both know I won’t be home tomorrow night. I’m, uh, going to stay longer in Denver.”
“Learning more than you expected, eh? Or are you teaching the folks there.”
“Little of both, I guess.”
“Good, good. So, when should I tell your mother to expect you?”
“A week from Monday. Not sure of the time.”
“A week,” his father repeated slowly.
“Yeah. Tell Mom to call Pauly Trudeau or Hem Robertson to help her out. Or both. They’d appreciate the offseason work. I’ll pay their wages when I get back.”
“I’ll tell her. Anything else you want me to tell her?”
“No. That covers it.” He was suddenly glad his mother hadn’t taken this call. She wouldn’t have been satisfied without a lot more information.
“Ed, you’re a grown man, as I’m always telling your mother, so . . . Is there anything — are you okay?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Are you okay with money to stay another week?”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a pause. “Okay, then. Call if you need anything. Or . . . if your plans change again.”
“I will.”
They said their farewells, hung up. But Ed didn’t move.
If his plans changed again.
As if he were in charge of any of this.
It was more like he was a calf, well and truly roped. Being drawn slowly, inexorably toward the fire where the branding iron waited.
Only this calf wanted the fire, wanted to wear the brand, even as it dragged back on the rope. Hoping it wouldn’t burn quite as much as it knew it would.
And knowing that then he’d be let loose. But not free.
****
After the evening performance, Donna came around the corner of the hallway, able to see the stage door now. Before her mind recognized
Ed, something else in her did — her breath caught, and her tired muscles lightened.
“Well, well, the faithful swain remains faithful,” murmured Henri from beside her, then added darkly. “So far as you know. Or think you know, because men are lying bastards.”
By which Donna understood that the rumor about Henri and Brad’s latest fight was true. She made a sound meant to combine acknowledgment and sympathy, but without much attention because all of hers was pinned on the tall, broad-shouldered figure wearing the cowboy hat.
Henri’s sound was one of disgust as he peeled off and went into the wardrobe room. She barely noticed.
Ed had his head bowed as he listened intently to something Maudie was telling him. He held a paper while she stabbed a finger at a point on it.
Maudie spotted her, said something to Ed. He folded the paper and slipped it inside his open jacket.
“What are you two conspiring over?” she teased, as she came close enough to wrap both hands around his arm. His opposite hand came up and clasped over hers, as if to secure her hold on him.
“Nothing.” He didn’t meet her eyes, even as his hand tightened.
“Maudie —?” But the older woman was walking away, heading toward her cubbyhole, and Grover was beside her. So much for attending the door.
She turned to Ed. Before she got in a question, he said, “Temperature’s dropped. We’ll get a cab.”
She started to protest, then decided a cab was a good idea. A really good idea. It would get them to the hotel, and his room, faster.
“Where would you like to eat?” He held the door for her.
Cold rushed around her, inside her, licking up her legs under the coat’s hem, burrowing inside the cuffs, slapping her face.
“I’m not hungry. Let’s just go to the hotel.” The sooner they got to the hotel, the sooner she could seduce him, once and for all. Let’s just go to bed. That’s what she wanted.
“No supper? You feeling okay?”
Wyoming Wildflowers: The Beginning Page 6