Lone Star Hero

by Jennie Jones

  Her heart beat faster.

  He strode through the rain and the quagmire the deluge of water had created, his boots splashing in muddy puddles, his focus on Molly.

  An evening breeze brushed Molly’s face a second before Saul halted in front of her, his body hard and already touching hers, the air between them hot and humid. He took her face in his hands.

  She blinked up, rain washing over her head and down her face, dragging at her eyelashes.

  “I want you, Molly. I want you naked on top of me. Next to me. Under me. I want to show you how good I can make you feel. I want you to share all that goodness you have. Will you share that with me? Now?”

  “Yes.” Hadn’t he known, in his heart, that she’d sleep with him now. That she’d share the intimacy of sex with him. That she’d willingly give herself and allow him to give himself to her.

  He kissed her hard, his mouth open and prying her lips apart.

  Molly wove her arms around him. Her hands wandered over his back, dragging at his soaked T-shirt. It was heavy, sopping wet as she clutched handfuls and lifted it so she could touch his body.

  The tenderness in his groan undid her and she trembled with exhilaration.

  “Molly...” His voice whispered in her ears, his work roughened hands warm on her skin when he pushed her button-down shirt off and slid his hands beneath her thin, wet cotton top.

  She sighed in pleasure when he pulled her closer again.

  He was kissing her as though searching or grasping for the reason this was happening. Possessing her with his power to overwhelm her with need.

  Every steel-hard inch of him was taut against her.

  He swore in a deep, demanding growl, and she was off her feet.

  She hooked her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his hips.

  He walked her across the brick paving, over the lodge house courtyard, and into her bedroom through an opened French window.

  The gauze curtains caught on their heads as he pushed through them, moving steadily and with intent as the wispy material cloaked them for a moment, then freed them.

  Molly inhaled the smell of him. That unnamable male skin aroma, but Saul’s skin was freshened by rain too, and heat emanated from him right into Molly’s bones.

  He put her on her bed, covering her instantly with his body and his strength.

  He paused, his breath coming as hard as Molly’s, and looked deep into her eyes.

  Her hair, wet from the rain, was already slicked back but he brushed it with his hand, taking hold of a great big chunk of it and tugging gently so her head tilted back and her neck arched.

  “You’re beautiful, Molly.”

  She was beautiful when she was with him. And now, she’d be forever beautiful because she’d had a touch from Saul.

  The thin curtains blew up from the wind outside. The raindrops, fat and soft, pelted the opened glass doors and the tiled floor as it was thrown in by the wind.

  Molly saw none of it. The sound of it was nothing more than orchestration, the setting perfect. She was in the arms of the man she loved, and totally absorbed in loving him while she had the chance.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Molly stirred, moving her sleep-softened limbs against his.

  Saul smiled at her, contentment settling deeper within him and his already relaxed muscles and limbs. He’d woken minutes ago, Molly wrapped around his back. Enjoying the sensation of her against him, her naked skin warm on his, he hadn’t wanted to shift in case it woke her and forced him to leave the dream of just being next to her like this. But a desperate need to look at her, watch her as she slept, had made him turn—carefully, and without disturbing the sheet flung across them—and prop himself on an elbow so he could study every beautiful facet of her.

  Her hair, strewn across the white pillows, was dry now. Long and tangled from having had his hands in it so much. Her face was calm in slumber but her mouth had the slightest hint of a curve and he found himself believing it was a smile.

  Neither had spoken about the incident on the roof. The fact that Molly had this gift was in one way awe-inspiring, and in another way, totally unreasonable. He couldn’t get his head around it, but she was so accepting of it. Not in the least frightened.

  He brushed a strand of hair from her face, and her eyelids fluttered. Then she inhaled, and Saul looked down at the rise of her breasts, just visible above the sheet that covered all the soft-skinned goodness.

  “Mmm.” She hummed, stretching her arms above her head, and doing the neck arch thing that drove him a lot wild. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her.

  “Nice,” she said in a satisfied, sleepy drawl that tightened his muscles and slammed him in the chest. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He shifted beneath the sheet and closed the slight gap between them. “So tell me,” he said, running his hand down her hips and onto her thigh, then slipping his hand...

  “Oh, that is so good,” she said on a croon.

  “Did Stirling Birling do this?”

  She spluttered a soft laugh, then closed her eyes and Saul felt the pleasure whirling throughout her. “He was the type to get on, get it done, get off, and say, oh, darling, could you get me a beer?”

  “I thought as much,” he murmured, and kept on stroking.

  He’d had his share of women, probably more than a fair share if he was honest, but doing things for Molly, like making her sigh and seeing her eyes go cloudy with desire, gave him more of a masculine hit of satisfaction than offering him his own harem could. Put him in a room with a dozen amazing women, all eager for him, and he would have laughed them out of the room, one by one.

  Molly was so easy to give to. She responded so well, without him even trying—although believe it, he’d put a lot of effort into their lovemaking, wanting to make it perfect for her. Wanting her to feel that perfection. But it was her passion that had pretty much undone him. So engaging in her softness, like a free-born spirit, natural and carefree as she wound her arms and her legs around him, clutching his back or his shoulders or pressing the pads of her fingers into his biceps. Arching when he touched her—he especially liked it when she arched, her lower back coming off the mattress so he could slip his hand beneath her and hold her or lift her. And when her head tipped back, all her chestnut hair spread out around her nakedness—it was enough to kill a man.

  “This is so good,” she said as his hand reached her most tender, warmest body part. “Your hands, honest to God, Solomon, they can do a lot more than build roofs. And your fingers...”

  He smiled, then put his mouth on hers and did all sorts of really good things for her with his tongue and his fingers.

  Forty minutes later—maybe thirty, maybe an hour, who was counting—he had her wrapped in his arms, her cheek on his chest and his chin on the top of her head. They’d stayed like this for ages, not talking. Not verbally anyway, but the strokes and sighs were like a complete conversation. Her fingers were now doing some walking game down his chest. Then they wandered to his abs and played there awhile, then she sighed and her fingers took a hike south.

  “I’m spent,” he told her, hoping she’d say she hoped not because if she wanted it again, he could give it again. Not an issue.

  “I hope not.”

  He smiled, and kissed the top of her head. “Want to stay here, in bed?” he asked.

  “Yes. But can’t.”

  “We need to clear up outside.”

  She nodded, then pulled from him and lay on her back. “You hit the shower first, and I’ll lie here for four more minutes, thinking about how lovely last night was.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” he said, throwing a leg over hers and inching to her side. “How about we merge my four minute shower with your six minutes and make it a joint ten?”

  Even after all they’d shared with each other, he loved the spot on her cheeks that glowed pink.

  “You have shower skills, too?” she asked. �
�You are amazing.”

  “And you are beautiful.”

  “And nuts,” she said, with a grin. “Don’t forget that part. You’ve just slept with a nutty woman. We’re all bonkers. All us Mackillops,” she said with a cheeky challenge in her tone, blinking up at him through her long, long eyelashes.

  “Yeah,” he said softly, moving to cover her body with his. “Totally, wonderfully, and unnaturally nuts.”

  He hoped by the way his mouth caressed hers and his hands slid over her, she understood he didn’t give a damn. “You’re beautiful, Molly. Inside and out.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” It looked like she couldn’t help her smile turning to a grin. “But I’m only beautiful when I’m with you.”

  “Not true.”

  “True. Although now, a little part of me will be forever beautiful because I’ve had a touch from Saul Solomon.”

  “Now I do believe you’re crazy.”

  She laughed. “So slow to catch on,” she said with a shake of her head, amusement dancing in her eyes.

  “Tease,” he said, running his hand up her thigh. “I need payback.”

  “Yes, please,” she said, her green eyes hooded but steady on his. “How are you going to do that?”

  “I’ve got some ideas.”

  “You’re all talk. I need action.”

  “Yeah?” he asked. “Want to see my tool again? It’s pretty sharp right now.”

  He pressed his mouth on hers, suffocating her laughter with a deep, penetrating kiss he knew would be one of the last.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sex had been great. The tender holding each other and the soft jokes and jibing had been great. But it was time to leave.

  Saul couldn’t help but fight both arguments going on in his head as he tried to figure out which one would win. Regret that he’d shared sex and body-love with Molly in case she ended up thinking him a jerk for having done her then left her, or pure joy that he’d done everything good with her and she’d wanted him and his body as much as he’d wanted her and every body part she had.

  The woman had it all. Softness, endearment, humility, honor—and that hair. He loved how it had gotten tangled in his hands, and mussed up on the pillows. He’d loved it when he’d had to hold it back from her face as it fell like a veil as he held her over him, watching her face and the multitude of expressions as pleasure swept through her.

  So why the hell was he leaving?

  He fastened his backpack, tightened the straps, and dropped it on the ground at the foot of his single bed.

  That one was easy to answer. Because he wouldn’t stay forever, and he’d hurt her. Maybe he’d come back one day, once the memories of such a heightened awareness between them had bled to a fond recollection of one hot night. And there it was—he wasn’t sure he could face her in the future. Especially as she’d undoubtedly be married by then. Some man would walk into Hopeless one day, not knowing why he’d arrived, and he’d take one look at Molly and wham—he’d go for it. Full throttle, all intent.

  Saul wouldn’t blame him, whoever the bastard turned out to be, but he’d certainly likely punch him if he ever met him.

  So no returning in the future. This was it. He’d lived according to the ranger code for all his adult life, but he had his own code of ethics too, and he wasn’t going to break those just because Molly meant more to him—or pulled at him more—than any other woman he’d met or been with. Rangering was something else he was leaving behind now. He wouldn’t go back to that. He’d move on and open Wilkerness Hiking somewhere.

  It was like everything he’d ever done was breaking apart. But that was what moving on meant. Tear up the past, start again, and attempt to mend any previous wrongs along the way of discovery.

  He glanced out the French window in his bedroom when the curtain shimmered, although there was no breeze today. The storm had subsided, and the sun had dried most of the sogginess from the earth. After they’d showered, where their tangle had been exhilarating but more passionate than heated, due to both knowing he’d be gone in a few hours, he’d helped Molly brush and sweep both courtyards, clearing them of the dust and debris left in the storm’s wake.

  They hadn’t spoken about his imminent departure until half an hour ago.

  “I’m walking out, Molly,” he’d said.

  She hadn’t paused in her sweeping, but he’d seen a rise in her chest as though her breath had snagged.

  “I’ll drive you. Lubbock?” she asked, not looking at him. “Airport?”

  Sure, he’d go to Colorado but not now. He’d make things good with his mom, but he had time. He needed to walk now. To walk off the Molly spell. “I don’t know where I’m headed.”

  She’d thrown him a smile, and he’d seen it as fake. As courage. “Might take you a while then.”

  “I’ll probably go—”

  “Actually, I don’t want to know!” she said, interrupting him. “No need for me to know.”

  “Okay.” That would be best.

  “Tell me what time you’re heading off and I’ll drive you into town at least.”

  “It’s not a good idea, Molly.”

  She stopped sweeping and gave him her battler’s look.

  The impudent grin, the shrug of a shoulder. “No problem for me,” she said. “I’ve got to see Momma anyway. Lots to do before the open day next week. Might as well drop you off in town.”

  Saul still couldn’t shake the Molly spell, even now after he’d packed everything up and was ready to go. He reckoned it might be a lifetime’s endeavor. Molly was brave. Unlike himself.

  It had hurt him, that brush-it-off attitude of hers earlier as they’d labored together one last time to get the courtyards cleared. Because he saw through it. Their initial antagonism had filtered to respect and friendship as they’d gotten to know each other. But the attraction between them had always been there, right from the start—and he had a feeling her attraction had crossed a river and opened up to an ocean. Of love.

  It worried him. It was the reason he was leaving, so he didn’t hurt her badly. Now, he had to wrangle with the possibility that he’d already hurt her more deeply than she’d be able to get over.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, taking his eyes off the opened window and bringing his mind back to the present. She can’t have fallen for you that hard and fast. Who the hell do you think you are?

  He looked back at the window when he heard someone call him. There was no one there and maybe it had been a falsetto yip of a coyote or the call of a bird, but he thought of Alice.

  Maybe it was Alice calling him. By whichever means she had to do that, he didn’t feel good about it. As though he was about to be hit on the skull with a baseball bat. She wanted to see him? Okay. It would be rude to ignore the invite. And anyway, he’d like to say his farewell.

  He headed out the open French window, across the courtyard and down the driveway, making his way to No Name Road.

  Saul pushed aside another branch of willow, ducked beneath a tree limb, and made his way toward the fire pit. He’d been doing a lot more talking in his head on the walk to Alice’s, and he was expecting everything bad. Expecting her admonishment with words like “You never should have come here” and “You asked for what you wanted, and you got it, and then you left it” and “You’re no better than Stirling Birling” and—

  “You’re doing a lot of thinking,” Alice said, dislocating Saul from his mental arguments.

  She had her back to him. It was likely she’d heard his footsteps in the sandy earth, he wasn’t sneaking up on her, but it was also likely to be some crazy, witch’s inner sense, or psychic something or other. Whatever it was these Mackillop women had. And he really shouldn’t want to know.

  He was here to say goodbye, to quash any cowardice some might say he possessed, and also to ask her a few questions he wanted answers to before he walked out of the valley.

  He arrived at the fire pit and didn’t want to sit, but since Alice was sittin
g, crossed legged, it would appear challenging and overbearing if he towered over her. So he sat. He pulled up his legs, laced his fingers together and rested his forearms on his knees.

  “So why me?” he asked, getting right in. “Did you find me a decade ago? Six years ago? Did you call me here?”

  Alice looked up at the sky. “That sky is a beautiful, freshened blue today isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he agreed, and waited.

  “Come nightfall,” Alice said, “that sky will be speckled with stars. I like watching them move.”

  “You can see them move?” Maybe she meant shooting stars.

  “Sometimes one stands out from the others,” she continued, “whether they’re meant to or not. Sometimes two stand out.” She turned her head to look at him. “All I saw was two people who were meant to shine with the same rays from the one star. But they were going in the wrong directions, because neither could see the mistakes they were making with their choices.” Her eyes were clear, like a much younger woman’s. “I didn’t know you. I got to know you over the years, but I didn’t ask to. I never ask. I don’t need to. Things find me.”

  “Two stars? Me and Molly? You mean we’re meant to be together?” He’d never believed her when she said they weren’t right for each other, but being right meant he’d have to stay, and he wasn’t the staying kind.

  “I’m just passing the messages. Up to you if you want to hear them or not.”

  “You have to be the most infuriating person I’ve ever met, Alice.”

  She chuckled.

  “I’m going for a long walk. After which, I’ll head back to Colorado. I’ll see my mom and...we’ll see what happens. I intend to stay in Colorado and start my own hiking business, because once I’ve walked off this frustration—” It wasn’t frustration it was some kind of fear. He didn’t want to tell Alice about what frightened the life out of him though, because he didn’t know what it was himself. “Just don’t go saying I don’t stick around and finalize whatever needs to be sorted,” he said instead.