* * *
For Danny, the rest of the workday passed in a blur of prefinished wood, stainless-steel hardware, little Ike always being cheerfully underfoot despite his parents’ best efforts, and her shooting a whole lot of looks over to the kickboard crew, where Sam was helping cover the last of the outward-angled half wall with heavy plywood panels.
“It’s not too soon,” she said as she wrestled a stall panel into place, banging it tight against its neighbors. “Is it?”
Whiz, who was sitting nearby, having roused when the cooking crew fired up the barbecue, tipped his head and gave a “whuff.”
“Too soon for what?” Krista said, coming around the corner with the hardware they would need to hang the sliding stall door.
Too soon to sleep with someone after only one official date, Danny thought. Too soon to be thinking that she was getting her brain back under control. Way too soon to think she could handle getting involved with someone who made her feel the way Sam did.
Aloud, though, she said, “I was just wondering if it was too soon to stress about the fact that I don’t know the first thing about square dancing.”
“Sure, you were.” Krista shot a pointed look over at Sam’s crew, but she just grinned. “As for the dancing? Don’t worry. Fiddler will explain all the terms and how to do the steps, and he’s good about helping everybody keep up. And if you mess up, you just laugh and move on.”
Danny blew out a breath, relieved when Krista got to work on the door and didn’t press her further. She liked her new friends, maybe even loved them. But this wasn’t a committee decision. It was hers.
She still hadn’t decided by the time the volunteers wrapped up their work for the day and the Mustang Ridge crew went back to the shuttle bus to change into their party clothes. She decided to let it go, though, and—like Sam had said—see what happened next. It wasn’t an entirely comfortable sensation, rather like making a one-handed grab on a free climb . . . But it darn sure wasn’t the sort of thing a burrito would do.
“Ha,” she said to Whiz, “I’m finally unwrapping my inner tortilla.”
Jenny paused in the middle of pulling on a fresh shirt and screwed up her face. “Huh?”
“It’s the squirrels,” Krista confided to Abby, who had spent most of the afternoon with her grandma in the snack tent, and now lay in a frilly little carrier, making cute baby noises. “Talking to them every day has made her nutty.”
“Very funny.” Danny stripped off her grubby work shirt. “I was just saying that I feel good. Like I’m finally making some progress.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Shelby held up an imaginary glass.
“Hear, hear!” Jenny said, and they mime-clinked. But then she made a rueful face. “Though I’d rather be toasting a shower right about now, instead of changing straight into party clothes.”
“On the bright side,” Krista put in, “the grunge is going to be a badge of honor. The only people who are going to be clean are the ones who skipped out on working and just showed up for the fun.” Her eyes lit up as Danny wiggled into a tight, lacy green shirt to go with the silver-studded black pants the others had talked her into on their shopping trip. “Wowza. Shower or no shower, you look hot.”
“Hey, I come from the land of ski bums, where turning your shirt inside out is considered getting dressed up for a date.” Not all the time, granted, and certainly not among the rich-and-famous set, but often enough that she wasn’t bothered to be pulling her hair back in a ponytail, tamping her feet into a pair of pointy-toed boots, slapping on a little makeup, and calling herself ready for a party.
“No wonder you fit right in here.” Shelby fake-toasted her again. “You look amazing. And I’m not just saying that because I picked out the shirt. In fact, I predict that Sam is going to swallow his tongue when he gets a load of you.”
Danny didn’t know about that, but when they made their appearance at the picnic area a few minutes later, to scattered applause and a few good-natured wolf whistles, she felt like she had regained the swagger she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing.
Sam stood as she approached, his eyes locking on her with a hunger that rippled through her body. She was aware of Wyatt, Nick, and Foster nearby, along with others from the Mustang Ridge crew. But her attention was wholly focused on Sam as he caught her hands and held her away for a long up-and-down and a rumble of masculine approval. “You look incredible.”
“Thanks. And for the record, that was going to be my line.” He had lost the tool belt and changed his shirt, and had a dead-sexy stubble shadow on his jaw.
He grazed his lips across hers. “I said it first.”
“Come on, you two,” Shelby urged, being tugged along by her tween-age daughter, Lizzie, who was wearing a sparkly purple cowgirl hat and smudges of work-dirt. “We’ve got to get in line before the good stuff’s all gone and we’re stuck with lima bean casserole and fruity Jell-O.”
“Sam has dibs on the Jell-O,” called Midas, earning a guffaw from Axyl.
Danny had met the other members of Babcock Gems earlier. Now, easing out of Sam’s embrace but keeping hold of his hand, she raised an eyebrow in their direction. “Do I want to know the story there?”
“It’s nothing bad.” Sam folded his fingers through hers. “But I’m with Shelby. I’m jonesing for Gran’s pulled pork, and it’ll go fast.”
Their bodies bumped as they went through the line, where he hit the meat and potatoes and she snagged a chicken breast and a rainbow of local veggies.
“Watch out, boy.” Axyl nodded to her plate. “Next thing you know, she’ll have you eating rabbit food.”
Liking the bearded prospector already—and aware that he was the closest thing Sam had left to family—she said, “No way. We have a deal—if he doesn’t try to fix me, then I won’t try to fix him.”
“Smart girl.” He winked at Sam. “Like I said, you’d better watch out.”
It wasn’t exactly a meet-the-parents moment, but it was pretty close. Grinning, she plopped a walnut-studded brownie on her plate, then defiantly added a second. “See? I’m not a health nut. I’m just saving up my calories for the good stuff.”
“Smart girl, indeed.”
Laughing, Sam whisked her back to their table, where they were soon sandwiched in by the others, with lots of shifting around and queries of “Is this my beer or yours?” And to Danny’s surprise, she didn’t even mind the close quarters. The jostling didn’t feel scary or suffocating. It felt . . . normal. Fun, even. And not just because she was so totally aware of the feel of Sam’s body very close to hers.
The conversation was lively, bouncing from the food, to the day’s work, to the plans for next week’s guests at Mustang Ridge. And from there to Wyatt and Krista’s wedding.
“Centerpieces,” Krista said, darting a quick look to make sure that Rose wasn’t within earshot. “Seriously, who cares what’s in the middle of the table?”
“So tell her you’re not doing them,” Jenny said.
“I tried. It didn’t work.”
“Admit it—you’re a wimp when it comes to Mom.”
“I’m not!” Krista nudged Wyatt. “Tell her.”
He lifted his dessert. “Good brownies, don’t you think, Sam?”
“An excellent vintage.” He studied what was left of his own. “Rich and chocolaty, with just the right bite to them. And do I detect a hint of spice in the top note?”
Krista narrowed her eyes dangerously. “Laugh it up, you two. But I’ve got three words for you: sparkly pink cummerbund.”
Sam winced. “You told her? Dude, that was classified.”
“The baby got it out of me.” Wyatt lifted Abby from her carrier and draped her over his shoulder for a little pat.
Enjoying them—all of them—Danny nudged Sam. “I think you’d look cute in sparkly pink. I’ve got matching fairy wings
you can borrow.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side!”
“Sorry.” She smiled sweetly. “Girl power.”
“Howdy, folks!” a cheery amplified voice hailed from the indoor arena. A lively fiddle tune struck up as the man said over the loudspeaker, “My name is Fiddler, and I’m going to be your caller tonight. This is your ten-minute warning, so finish up your food and get your fine selves on in here.” His voice dropped an octave. “For those of you ladies who are virgins to the square, you’ve got nothing to fear. I’ll talk you through your first time. And don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
“Well.” Danny fanned herself with her napkin. “Sexy square dancing. I had no idea.”
A corner of Sam’s mouth kicked up. “Fiddler’s got a way about him.”
And so do you. Her whole body was aware of him. Not because she was leaning on him, but because she wanted him with a deep, insistent throb that was getting stronger by the minute.
“You want to get in there, let him talk us through some patterns?”
“Lead the way!”
The next two hours were pure, unadulterated fun. Fiddler proved to be short and bowlegged, with merry eyes almost lost beneath layers of wrinkles, and feet that never seemed to stop moving as he sawed away on his fiddle and called the square dances. He coached the dancers through pattern after pattern—bowing to their corners and their partners, doing do-si-dos, swings, and promenades—starting slow and picking things up so gradually that Danny didn’t really notice until suddenly she realized her hair had fallen out of its ponytail to whip around, flung by the force of Sam’s spinning her at arm’s length, then snapping her in close to his side to parade around the square.
He grinned down at her. “You’ve got this.”
“I really do!”
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” Fiddler shouted into the microphone. “Enough with the warm-up. Are you guys ready to square dance?”
There was a cheer from the crowd, and two new musicians appeared suddenly and stepped onto the stage—a bass guitarist and a jug blower. They joined in, adding a deeper note to the music.
“Annnd first you whistle, then you sing . . .” Fiddler called, his voice taking on a new twang that went straight through Danny and made her bounce to the beat. “All join hands and make a ring.” She followed directions, hanging on to Sam’s hand and grinning up at him. “Into the center with a whinny and a neigh . . .” Into the center they went, then out again on his call of, “Feed ’em oats and a bale of hay.” Then, grinning like a madman, Fiddler hollered, “And a one, two, one, two, three, FOUR!”
The musicians kicked it into high gear, zooming from an easy jog to a flat-out gallop in no time at all, and Fiddler started calling hard and fast, blurring his words together like an auctioneer. And Danny and Sam swung their partners, do-si-doed, centered, and cornered like crazy people, while the world spun and the dance floor got crowded.
Eventually, winded, laughing, and practically holding each other up, they stumbled back outside to grab drinks, split another brownie, and sneak several kisses in the moonlight. The music drew them back in, though, and they soon plunged into the heated, whirling crowd again. They found a square and fell into the call, trading partners around and around in a daisy chain. But no matter how far they went or how many partners they traded, they always came back to each other as if magnetized.
That was how it felt. Like Danny was elementally drawn to him—the press of his body against hers, the taste of his kiss. She couldn’t get enough, didn’t want it to end.
Finally, though, when she was dizzy and couldn’t really feel her feet hit the ground anymore, the music softened and Fiddler leaned into the mic to rumble, “And now we’re going to shift gears, folks. Gentlemen’s choice, so grab your favorite lady and let’s slow it down.”
Sam hooked an arm around her waist and drew her close, and even though she hadn’t doubted she would be his pick, the smooth move sent a drugging warmth through her body, making her sigh as she melted against him.
“I’m guessing I don’t need to ask if you’re having a good time.” Sam said, his voice a sexy rumble against her temple as they swayed together.
“I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a party this much.” Maybe never. “But . . . I’m about ready to call it a night.” She turned her lips against his throat, tasted him. “How about you?”
He stiffened, his hands drifting an inch or so down from her waist. “Can I drive you home?”
“You can,” she said. Breath thinning in her lungs, she added, “Or you could take me to Windfall.”
He drew away just far enough to search her face with eyes gone suddenly hot and urgent. “Tell me you’re sure.”
Her lips curved. “I’m sure. This is what I want. You are what I want. Not because I’m expecting you to make things better for me, but because things already are better. And I want to celebrate that. With you.” The decision was made, and it was delicious. “What do you say?”
He swept her into his arms, into a kiss, and said against her lips, “I say let’s round up your dog and get the heck out of here.”
13
It wasn’t until he led Danny past Wolf Rock, with Whiz zigzagging around with his nose down and his tail whipping, that it hit Sam just how few women he’d brought home. Two, maybe three, and he’d known them pretty well by the time he invited them to Windfall. It wasn’t a rule, hadn’t even really been intentional. B and Bs were simply easier, more romantic. He wanted Danny here, though, wanted her in his bed.
He paused with his hand on the kitchen door. “I warned you that it’s really a bachelor pad hiding inside a much bigger house, right?”
Her lips curved. “Does your bedroom have a window?”
“Lots of ’em. Even sliders to a deck.”
“Then we’re good.”
It really was that simple with her, he realized. She didn’t care about the big house or the money. She’d rather help rebuild a stranger’s barn than go out to a fancy dinner, liked treasure hunting more than she did the actual gems. And how cool was that?
Moved, he turned and kissed her, feasting on her mouth as they stood there together at his kitchen door, like a couple of teens who weren’t ready to say good night. The embers that had sparked again and again on the dance floor fanned suddenly to flames, along with the triumph of knowing he didn’t have to hold himself back now, didn’t have to stop. They were alone.
Blood pounding in his veins, he cupped her breasts, shaping their soft, feminine weight and swallowing her moan. “Inside,” he said. “Bedroom.” That was as far as he could think.
She twined her fingers through his. “Lead the way.”
* * *
Sam’s kitchen said non-slob bachelor with its stack of local menus, two mismatched towels and a lack of decorations to offset the austere angles of granite and steel. The sitting room had been turned into a home gym, with a flat screen over the carved fireplace mantel and exercise equipment instead of furniture. Stairs curved around an atrium with expensive-looking woodwork and bare walls. A long hallway opened to many doors—a bathroom, several closed panels, a game room that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. And then the bedroom.
Finally, the bedroom. Where it felt like they had been headed all night. Or longer, because even when she had thought they were done with each other, she had still wanted him, still wondered what it would be like—the sizzle of his kiss when he turned to her in the doorway and pressed her against the frame like he couldn’t wait any longer; the glide of her palms beneath his shirt; the way his voice rasped when he broke the kiss to say, “My beautiful, brave Danny.”
Then he swept her in his arms, and carried her to the bed, and need coiled inside her. She wanted to know, wanted to feel. Wanted him.
She was peripherally aware of a plush rug, a framed mountain landscape, a few photog
raphs on the bureau, and the big glass doors looking out on the night sky. But rather than focusing on their surroundings, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as he lowered her to the bed. Then, as he came down beside her, she drew him in closer, above her. There was no fear, no suffocation. There was only Sam’s good, solid weight and the sparks of color that reflected from his eyes, gone silver with desire as they kissed and kissed again.
She popped the snap studs on his shirt and curled around to kiss his throat, his collarbone, and lower. A groan rattled in his chest as he tugged on her shirt, slipping it up and over her head, then tossed it aside. He cupped her breasts, captured her lips in a deep, dark kiss, and moved against her with inciting friction. He skimmed his lips over her belly, the point of her hip, and slid the clingy black pants down and off, along with her boots, then dealt with his own.
Desire flared, restless and urgent, as she watched him strip, uncovering the rugged, no-nonsense musculature of a guy who worked with his hands and his back, and spent more time with a pick and shovel than with the weight bench in the front room. His broad shoulders angled to narrow hips, and the lean muscles of his thighs made her want to cruise her lips along the path of those indentations, then up to the hard flesh they framed.
He caught her look, and his eyes darkened with lust. A quick trip to the bedside table—then a low curse and a longer trip across the hall to the bathroom—yielded a box of condoms. It warmed her that he hadn’t known quite where they were, and the flames fanned higher when the mattress dipped beneath his weight and he kissed his way back up her body.
She welcomed him, curled her arms around him, and kissed him as he settled between her legs, the blunt head of him nudging her slick opening. She stretched against him, inviting him in. He joined them together with a powerful surge that stole her breath with pleasure. She gasped and clutched at him, arching her body to take more of the delicious fullness.
Firelight at Mustang Ridge Page 15
