by Lisa Jackson
“I noticed.”
“She deserves the best.”
“Don’t we all?”
Jarrod started the engine and his mouth tightened. “Don’t use her, okay? I know you have a thing—some kind of personal vendetta—against her old man, but don’t use her to get back at him.”
“Don’t worry about it.” The last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt Bliss, but he damned sure wanted to make love to her. And that was a problem—a problem that had been with him since the first time he’d seen her so many years ago, a problem he couldn’t begin to solve.
But then again, he was a firm believer in the old “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” theory. Now was as good a time as any to test it.
On Bliss.
* * *
Astride Fire Cracker, Bliss craned her neck and peered over the edge of the ridge. Full from the spring runoff, the river far below slashed wildly over stones and fallen trees, carving a rushing swath through the stony canyon as it had on the day she’d nearly lost her life at this very spot.
Her heart began to pound and her hands sweat on the reins as the memories of that fateful afternoon ricocheted through her mind. She remembered Mason’s warnings as clearly as if he’d just uttered them.…
“Don’t be a fool.”
Too late, she thought. She’d always been a fool for Mason Lafferty. They’d been so young, so innocent and so afraid of falling in love.
It seemed as if everything and nothing had changed. Slowly she dismounted.
The wind stirred, rustling through the trees and causing wildflowers to bend in its wake. Bliss sighed for all the could-have-beens until she noticed the shadow creeping slowly beside her. Squinting against the sun, she saw Mason, tall astride his horse, rangy and rugged as the mountains that towered around them.
Her heart squeezed as it always did when she was alone with him, and a tiny voice inside reminded her that he was the one—he had forever been the one—who was wedged deep in her heart, be he bad, good or indifferent. “Mason,” she said, surprised that her voice had lost some of its timbre.
“Thought I might find you here.” He swung down from his gelding and let the horse roam free.
“Did you? Why?”
“Because, like it or not, Bliss, I know you.”
Her throat turned to dust but she wouldn’t be so easily seduced. “No, Lafferty, you don’t know a damned thing about me. Not anymore.”
Slowly he sauntered toward her. “When you weren’t at the house and Delores said you’d taken off riding, I thought I’d be able to catch up with you. So I, well, ‘borrowed,’ I guess you’d say, one of the horses in the stables and rode out here. After all, this is the scene of the crime, so to speak.”
“‘Crime’? You mean accident.” Oh, God, his eyes were such an incredible hue of gold.
He lifted a shoulder. “Whatever.” The corners of his mouth twisted. “I—” His gaze centered on hers and she knew in an instant that he was searching for her soul. “I thought there were some things you and I should get straight.”
“Like what?” she asked warily and wished her pulse would slow a little. So he’d followed her out here, so they were alone together in the dying sunlight, so her throat was as dry as a desert wind, so what?
“I wanted to say that I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Somewhere nearby a crow cawed loudly.
She stiffened. “You didn’t.”
“Of course I did.” He closed the short distance between them.
Trying to back away, she nearly stumbled but his hands, rough and large, caught her and held her upright. His fingertips were warm through the light cotton of her blouse and she felt them press intimately against her ribs, as if there were no barrier, no flimsy piece of cloth separating his skin from hers.
“Terri didn’t mean anything to me, Bliss,” he said, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
“Then why did you sleep with her?”
“It was before I met you. Before I understood.”
“Understood what?”
He hesitated for a second. “What caring about a person is all about.”
Oh, God, she wanted to believe him. But there was too much time, too many lies. “Mason, you don’t have to explain.”
“Like hell.” Shifting clouds covered the sun in a soft, thin veil.
“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
“It matters to me.” A lick of lightning flared in his eyes and in that split second she knew he was going to kiss her. Not just once, but many times, with a pulsing passion that was certain to be her downfall.
She tried to pull away, but his hands held her fast and when his lips claimed hers, the whimper of protest forming in her throat turned into a soft moan of pure female wanting. Dear God, she’d waited so long for this. Much too long. Kissing him seemed so natural, so right, and yet… His tongue slid easily between her teeth and beyond, searching and teasing, tasting and flicking against its mate.
Bliss was lost. All thoughts of denial swiftly fled. As the horses, bridles jangling, grazed on the summer grass and a hawk circled lazily in the cloudless sky, Mason kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her throat. Her skin quivered with each brush of his lips and she couldn’t protest as his weight pulled them both to the soft carpet of grass covering the ground.
“I told myself to forget you,” he whispered.
“I know. I did, too.”
“But I couldn’t.”
She didn’t argue, didn’t bring up the fact that he’d married another woman. Right now, alone on this grassy ridge, with an outcropping of stone near the edge and the forest so close, she closed her eyes and gave in to the sensations that she’d denied for oh-so-many years.
Her heart thundered; her skin was on fire. Strong arms held her fast; firm lips loved her as if she were the only woman on earth.
As the wind picked up, he lowered himself over her and the intimacy of his weight pressed against hers felt so right. Kissing each patch of her exposed skin, he drew her closer. With deft fingers, he unbuttoned her blouse and the warm air of summer touched her skin.
Slowly he kissed the dusky hollow between her breasts before he brushed his lips across a lace-encased nipple. “Bliss,” he whispered as she arched her back. “Sweet, sweet Bliss.”
A yearning, feminine and wanton, swirled deep inside her and seeped into her blood. He lifted one breast from the lacy bounds of her bra, and her nipple puckered in expectation.
“Mason—” she cried as his mouth found her nipple and gently suckled. “Oh…” She should stop this madness, stanch the heat flowing wildly through her blood, halt the driving need that was causing her to want him so badly.
“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured as his hands moved to the waistband of her jeans. “Let go.”
“I—I can’t.”
“Sure, you can.” His mouth was wet velvet, smooth and slick, his tongue wantonly teasing her as he slid her jeans over her hips.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she should stop him, that letting him touch her was downright dangerous, but as he trailed his tongue along her bare skin, she melted inside and passion ruled over reason. His lips were hot, his breath a warm summer breeze that rolled over her, and she trembled deep inside.
This was wrong. So how could it feel so right? Through her panties his lips and tongue touched her, parting her legs, creating a hot pool of lust that ached for all of him. “Mason, please…” she rasped as he teased at the elastic of her underwear with his teeth.
He slipped his hands beneath the silk. “Trust me,” he said, and her heart nearly broke. Hadn’t she trusted him with her love—with her very life—ten years ago?
Slowly he touched her. With infinite care he explored and caressed while his lips pressed anxious kisses to her abdomen. She closed her eyes and the world seemed to swirl on a new and separate axis. He rimmed her navel with his tongue and she felt perspiration soak through her skin. She knew nothing more than the feel and smell of hi
m. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the storm of desire sweeping through her, moved under the gentle tutelage of his fingers, cried out as the world spun out of control and the universe, stars and rainbows collided behind her eyes.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered as she quivered and his arms surrounded her. He kissed her gently on the stomach, then held her close.
Her mind reeling, she looked up into his gold eyes. “But—” she cleared her throat “—what about…what about…you?”
With a cynical smile, he drew her even closer, his nose pressed to the crook of her neck. “Another time, darlin’,” he promised, then kissed the side of her throat. “Another time.”
* * *
Despite the open windows, the air inside the house was airless and hot. Most of the tension was due to the fact that Brynnie had come over to make amends with her intended, but some of the frustration Bliss was feeling was because she hadn’t seen Mason in several days. She didn’t understand what had happened to them up on the ridge—why he hadn’t made love to her—and she hadn’t been able to think of much else.
“A curse, that’s what it is,” she told Oscar, and the dog, seated on a chair, his chin between his paws, wagged his tail. “Men. Who needs them?”
As for her father, John Cawthorne wasn’t ready to reconcile with Brynnie. He obviously felt betrayed and bamboozled and kept reminding the woman he supposedly loved that she was some kind of traitor.
“Oh, I give.” Bliss threw down her pencil and walked from the den toward the kitchen. As she passed the dining-room windows, she heard the sound of tires crunching against the gravel in the driveway.
For a split second she thought Mason might have come by the house and her heart did a stupid little leap, but she glanced out the window and spied Katie, all business, striding to the front door. Disappointment settled upon her, though she couldn’t explain why. Just because she hadn’t seen Mason in a few days was no reason to get a case of the blues. Oh, she was being such a ninny. What did she care about him? Who cared if she spent her nights sleeplessly remembering how he kissed her and caused her insides to tremble?
The bell rang just as Bliss yanked open the door. Oscar let out a few excited barks and scrambled to the doorway, jumping wildly on Katie as she breezed into the house. “Hi,” Katie said a trifle breathlessly. “Is Mom here?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Good.” Katie hurried down the hallway to find her mother stirring a bowl of strawberries, sugar and pectin together as she made freezer jam. John was sitting at the table reading the paper.
“Katie!” Her mother looked up and beamed. “What brings you out here?”
“I, uh, thought it might be a good time for Bliss to meet Tiffany.” She glanced at Bliss. “I know it’s kind of sudden, but I’m not working today and Josh is over at Laddy’s, so I thought if you have the time…”
Bliss cleared her throat and noticed that her father, looking over the tops of his reading glasses, was staring at her. There was something akin to hope in his eyes. “Are you sure she wants to meet me?”
“I don’t know,” Katie replied honestly.
“Why wouldn’t she?” John demanded.
“Oh, Dad, come on. If you can’t figure it out, I’m not going to spell it for you.”
“You’re a wonderful person and—”
“And I’m your daughter. Your legitimate daughter—the one you claimed.”
“We’re all adults now,” he said stubbornly. “And she’s got a couple of kids. I’m their grandfather.”
Grandfather. Bliss held back the argument that was brewing in her mind. Her father was a grandfather—three times over—and though she had trouble with the concept, he didn’t. A little spurt of jealousy flowed through her veins. For most of her life she’d thought she would be the only bearer of Cawthorne grandkids. If she could. That was still a question. It was funny, in a bitter way, how life had turned out, and again she felt an empty space, a small hole in her life—one that only a child could fill.
“That’s why I think we should talk to Tiffany. See her face-to-face,” Katie said.
“Maybe you should slow down a mite.” Brynnie patted Katie’s hand and Bliss felt a lump forming in her throat. Though she and her mother hadn’t been the touch-and-hug kind of mother and daughter, they’d been close, and seeing this display of affection between Brynnie and Katie brought to the surface a part of her she’d tried to suppress—the part of her that missed Margaret Cawthorne so badly that sometimes she still fought tears. “Tiffany might need a little more time, you know, to get used to things.”
“It’s been over thirty years,” John interjected.
“But not for her.” Brynnie took a chair at the table so she could face Bliss’s father. “You know she might not come to the wedding. You’ll have to accept that.”
“Don’t know if I can.” Taking off his reading glasses, he rubbed one hand over his face and Bliss was struck by how he’d aged in the past few years.
“Look, let’s not get all tied in knots about it,” Katie said. “Just tell me how the wedding plans are coming along.”
“Humph!” John pushed his chair back.
“They’re fine.” Brynnie shot him a look that dared him to argue, but for once, John Cawthorne held his tongue.
In the ensuing silence, Bliss glanced at the calendar. Only a few weeks until her father said “I do” for the second time in his life. Somehow Bliss had to come to terms with her father and his new bride. She had to find a way to lock away her past with him, to concentrate on the future so that she could honestly wish him happiness and maybe some kind of peace that had eluded him for most of his life.
“The invitations went out last week,” Brynnie was saying. “The flowers are ordered, the cake is gonna be beautiful and if I can only get those miserable caterers to come up with a decent meal for a price that wouldn’t make a millionaire’s eyes pop out of his head, we’ll be set.”
Katie glanced at her watch, then at Bliss. “Why don’t you take a ride into town with me and we’ll grab a soda or something?”
Bliss hesitated, but just for a second.
“Okay,” she said, involuntarily squaring her shoulders as if readying herself for battle. “Let’s go.”
Katie didn’t need any further encouragement. Within minutes they were out the door and on the road in Katie’s old rattletrap of a convertible. Despite her seat belt, Bliss clung to the door handle. The car was an older model with a big engine and it practically flew past the dry fields and rounded hills. Telephone poles whipped by and Bliss’s hair tangled in the wind. The radio was on and the pounding beat of an old song by the Who rocked through the speakers.
“I hear that you and Mason Lafferty are an item,” Katie said as she took a corner so fast the tires squealed.
“An item? Where’d you hear that?” Bliss was trying to hold her hair into a ponytail with one hand while clutching the door with the other. The last topic of conversation she wanted to deal with was Mason.
“Mom. She seems to have an ear to the ground.”
Or a nose for gossip, Bliss thought. “There’s nothing going on between Mason and me.”
“Why not?” Katie cast her half sister a grin. “You have to admit he’s hot.”
“Oh, for the love of… Hot?”
“That’s the term the kids use. Josh is always telling me who’s hot and who’s not in the fourth grade.”
“This isn’t elementary school.” And yet her heart pounded like that of a schoolgirl whenever she heard his name.
“I know, but, as I told you before, Mason’s one of the most eligible bachelors in these parts.”
“I’m not in the market,” Bliss said, as if to convince herself. “Why don’t you date him?”
“Naw. Known him all my life. He hung out with my older brother, Jarrod, so even though he’s sexy as all get-out, I’m immune.” She eased up on the gas as she approached town. A wooden sign welcoming visitors to Bittersweet needed a new
coat of paint and the railroad tracks that had run parallel to the road curved toward the spindly-looking trestle bridge that spanned the river. Flat, single-story strip malls had sprouted on the outskirts of town, while in the older section, near the town square and Mason’s office, shops with false Western-style fronts rose two or three stories.
“Do you know his wife?” Bliss asked as Katie nosed her car into a parking spot.
“Terri? Sure.” She turned off the engine and tossed the oversize key ring into her purse. With a shrug, she added, “She’s okay, I guess. After the divorce, she moved to—Colorado, I think. Either Boulder or Aspen or… Well, it doesn’t matter. A few years ago she moved back here with Dee Dee, her and Mason’s daughter.”
Bliss remembered the girl with the soulful eyes.
They walked across the hot sidewalk, where tiny particles of glass reflected in the sunlight. Katie opened the door of a coffee shop with her hip and waved to a waitress in a checked blouse and brown pants.
She seemed to know everyone in the place, from an old man with one leg and a charming smile to a five-year-old blonde girl who burst out of the restroom and careened into Katie’s waiting arms. “Cindy Mae West, what’re you doing here?” Katie asked with a wide grin as she scooped up the urchin.
“Havin’ ice cream with my dad.”
“You’d better go eat it before it melts.” Katie hugged the child and set her on the black-and-white-tiled floor. Like a shot, the kid bolted to a booth in the corner where her father was smoking a cigarette and a caramel sundae was dripping over the side of its dish.
Katie and Bliss sat in a booth near the windows and ordered soft drinks, and after they were both sipping from their sodas, Katie, green eyes sparkling, said, “Go ahead. Ask me about Mason.” As if she saw the protest forming in her half sister’s eyes, she added, “And don’t give me any back talk about not being interested. I’m a journalist, you know, write part-time for the Rogue River Review, and you just happen to be one lousy liar, Bliss Cawthorne.”
That much was true, and since Katie had already guessed that she was, at some slight level, emotionally involved with Mason, there was no reason to argue the point. “All right. So I’m interested. A little.”
