by B. J Daniels
“They went to an awful lot of trouble,” Chelsea said quietly.
Jack nodded. “I just don’t want Sam getting the wrong idea.”
“By tomorrow, she might change her mind about us getting together,” Chelsea said.
He nodded, almost looking hopeful. “It does smell awfully good, though. Abigail is a great cook and obviously she and Rowdy are in on this.”
“Yes.” Sam, their little matchmaker. And Abigail. She’d more than accepted Chelsea from the start and had done her best to keep Sam busy to give Chelsea time with Jack—for all the good it had done.
“There’s wine,” Chelsea said.
“Seems they’ve thought of everything.” He walked over to the bucket and pulled out the bottle. “I suppose one glass wouldn’t hurt.” He filled their glasses and handed her one. She started to take a sip.
“Toast!” came a small voice from the loft, followed by the rustle of straw.
Chelsea met Jack’s gaze. He shook his head and smiled in spite of himself. “Kids,” he said. “What should we toast?”
Chelsea could think of all kinds of things. “To Sam,” she said, and clinked her glass with his before taking a drink.
Another slow song came on, one Chelsea had told Sam that she really liked. She was touched that the girl remembered.
“Dance!” came the whisper from the loft.
She met Jack’s eyes. He looked as if he might rebel, but instead put down his glass and tipped his hat to her. “May I?”
Putting down her glass, she took his hand and let him pull her close. The music seemed to flow like a gentle breeze through the barn. Outside the wind had picked up, but in here it was warm and dry. Familiar ranch smells mingled with the scent of Jack’s aftershave just as they had ten years ago.
The candlelight flickered across the high ceiling as they danced. Being back in Jack’s arms felt so right. Did she dare hope? She rested her head against his shoulder, reveling in the strong feel of his arm around her.
He drew her even closer, his breath warm on her temple. When she looked up, her breath caught at the expression in his eyes.
“Do you realize I’ve loved you since I was seventeen?” she whispered.
“Chels—”
“There’s never been anyone but you.”
She saw his throat contract. “Oh, Chelsea,” he said, and closed his eyes.
“I know you still love me,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes, looking as if he no longer had the strength to lie. “And I’ve regretted it every day for the last ten years.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered, smiling up at him.
“You made me believe that I could have you and everything I ever dreamed of with you,” he said.
“And you can. We just need to find some common ground.”
“Common ground for you, Chelsea, means me giving up my life to be a part of yours. You want me and Sam at the Wishing Tree.”
She didn’t deny it. She couldn’t.
“Even if your brother…” He waved a hand through the air. “You want too much.”
“I only want you, Jack,” she said softly, holding his gaze.
“We’d better eat,” he whispered, his voice husky.
She swallowed and nodded, but neither of them quit dancing—or let go of each other. The song came to an end.
Jack grinned just before he dipped her dramatically.
Giggles erupted from the loft, the sound so delightful Chelsea and Jack both laughed. He was still smiling as he served the dinner and refilled their wineglasses.
“This was a wonderful idea,” she said. “And very sweet of Sam.”
“Yes. But it doesn’t solve the problem, does it?”
“No, that would take a compromise,” she agreed.
He lifted a brow. “That sounds dangerous.”
She raised her wineglass to him. “I thought you lived for danger.”
He actually smiled at that.
“No matter what tomorrow brings, can’t we just have tonight?”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, touching his glass lightly to hers.
While they ate, they talked of safe subjects: Texas, summer, their love of thunderstorms.
The lasagna and bread were wonderful. So was the music that drifted from the loft. They danced after dinner, holding each other, moving together as if they always had.
It broke her heart to think that tonight might be their last night together. But if it was, she had only one wish. And that was to spend it in Jack’s arms.
The song ended and she looked up at him, love in her eyes.
Jack stopped dancing, Chelsea still in his arms, his gaze meeting hers. The look in her eyes engulfed him, drowning him in memories, in dreams, in promises never kept. She pushed herself up to kiss him, and when he felt her mouth on his, the soft sweet breath, he drew her to him. He couldn’t keep lying to himself. He loved this woman. But the price of loving Chelsea Jensen had always been high.
The sound of clapping brought him up from the kiss like a swimmer surfacing from a deep dive. He’d almost forgotten the girls.
He pulled back to look at Chelsea. Desire made her eyes gleam in the candlelight, and in the distance lightning zigzagged across the sky, lighting up the old barn. Thunder rumbled overhead. The air suddenly smelled of rain as the storm moved in.
“Come on, girls,” he heard Abigail say. “Time to get into the tent.” The girls scrambled down from the loft, giggling as they raced to the door. They gave a little wave as they headed outside. Then Abigail peeked around a corner of the barn. How much more of an audience did they have? Jack wondered wryly. “Rowdy and I’ll clean this up,” she said. “The two of you should get to someplace dry. It’s going to pour any moment.”
Rowdy appeared beside his wife. “You do have enough sense to get out of the rain, don’t you, Jack?”
He smiled at his friend. “Thanks, you two.”
“Thank Sam, it was her idea,” Abigail said. “This means a lot to her, Jack.”
He nodded, realizing how much it meant to him. He took Chelsea’s hand. “Come on.”
They raced toward the motor home as huge wet drops of rain began to fall. By the time they reached it, they were soaked and laughing.
Inside he found soft music playing and candles set out. “The matchmaker has been everywhere tonight,” he said, lighting the slim tapers. He felt a surge of emotion at just the thought of what his daughter had done to get him together with Chelsea.
Thunder boomed and the rain began to fall in deafening sheets.
Chelsea was still laughing, her hair wet, raindrops on her lashes, the blue dress clinging to her skin. She’d never looked more beautiful.
Impulsively, he cupped her face in his hands and gazed down into her eyes. The desire he saw there almost buckled his knees.
She nodded as if she’d seen the question in his gaze, and he promised himself that this was just a beginning for them. They would find a way. They had to.
Then he kissed her, slowly, feeling her shiver. “You should get out of those wet clothes,” he whispered against her temple.
“Oh, yes.”
How many nights had he dreamed of this? “Oh, Chelsea,” Jack breathed into her hair, afraid this was a dream and he would soon wake up. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you for even a minute. But when I saw you and Sam and Becky in that mud hole, covered from head to foot in mud, I fell in love with you all over again.” He laughed softly. “I was wrong about you in so many ways. Can you ever forgive me?”
* * *
SHE LEANED UP to kiss him, just a brush of her lips on his. His muscles tightened and she caught her breath as he pulled her to him, his kiss anything but light.
“I love you, Chelsea,” he whispered against her mouth.
How many years had she waited to hear those words? Her body seemed to melt against his, her knees like water.
He gazed down at her again, as if he couldn’t believe his ey
es. But then she barely believed it herself—that they were here together and he was saying he loved her.
Slowly, he reached out to push back her hair, the tips of his fingers brushing her cheek, a soft feather of a caress. She saw him draw in breath as she took his hand and held it against her cheek, her lips dropping to the tender inside of his wrist to kiss the warm bare skin.
He let out a soft groan as his thumb moved to her lips, the rough pad stirring a need deep within her as it brushed across them. Then her lips parted, and her tongue flicked across his skin.
“Chelsea.” It came out a whispered plea. His gaze locked with hers, desire making his eyes bright, as if a fire burned just beneath the surface.
Sliding his hand around her neck, he dragged her to him, lowering his mouth to hers as his large palms came up to cradle her head. He took her mouth with a passion born of longing over too many years.
Her need for him felt more like pain, so deep, so long forbidden. When he caught her lower lip between his teeth, a jolt of electricity surged through her, and when his palm closed over her breast, the sensation was so strong she wanted to cry out.
“You really need to get out of those wet clothes,” he whispered against her mouth, slipping one thin silk strap off her shoulder, then the other. He lifted his lips from hers and she could feel his gaze warm the tender soft skin of her breasts as he slowly, achingly slid the wet dress down her body until it dropped to the floor, leaving her standing in only the lace bra and panties she’d put on in hopes of just such a moment.
A groan escaped him and he picked her up, carrying her to his narrow bed over the cab.
Lowering her to the bed, he climbed up beside her, and she worked frantically to free him of his wet clothing.
Kissing her slowly, torturously, he slid his hand up her waist to cup one breast. When his thumb flicked across the thin, wet lace, her nipple puckered and pushed against the cloth, a hard, aching bud stretching toward his touch. Heat licked through him as he removed the bra, then the panties, and pressed his naked body to hers. Heat to heat.
Outside, the wind rocked the motor home. Rain beat against the roof as thunder rattled the windows and lightning flickered.
Chelsea barely heard it over the beat of her heart. Her eyes locked with Jack’s as he pulled her to him, hunger in his gaze, in the hardness of his body.
“Oh, Chelsea, how I’ve dreamed of this,” he breathed against her hair.
He ran one callused finger along the line of her hip, the heat of his touch making her shiver.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion as she opened her lips and body to him.
The wind whistled through the cracks and the old motor home swayed as rain pounded the roof. His kisses trailed across her skin in a hot path of sensation, making her dizzy with delight, making her remember.
“Oh, Jack,” she cried out. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” she said, her voice desperate with need.
He wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in the hollow of her neck. “Oh, Chelsea. So have I. So have I.”
Lightning lit the sky off to the west, and thunder boomed nearby. Or maybe it was just his heart thundering in his chest as slowly he began to make love to her.
* * *
JACK WOKE sometime before daylight. The storm had passed. He could hear the gentle drip of the leaves and Chelsea’s soft breathing.
He rolled over, careful not to wake her. She lay curled next to him, her eyes closed, lashes dark against her creamy skin, her face composed and peaceful. The sheet was down around her waist, exposing the smooth womanly curves.
She looked vulnerable and he felt suddenly both possessive and protective of her. The emotions surprised him. He’d never thought of Chelsea needing him.
He stared at her, awed and humbled by their lovemaking, and saddened. What was that line from that Drew Barrymore movie Sam loved so much? Something to the effect that a bird and a fish could fall in love, but where would they live?
Slowly, he leaned down and kissed her bare shoulder, then pulled the sheet up over her. She turned in her sleep, curling herself against him like a spoon, and he breathed in the intoxicating scent of her as though it were his last breath.
“I’m afraid,” he whispered, not sure she could hear him—hoping she couldn’t, but needing to say the words. “When I left the Wishing Tree I promised myself I would make new dreams and I would accomplish them if it killed me. I have. It’s almost killed me. But as hard as I tried, I never could forget you. I want this to work, Chelsea.”
For a few seconds all he heard was rain dripping from the eaves.
“It will work, Jack, you’ll see.” She snuggled against him and he closed his eyes, praying she was right because he couldn’t imagine going back to a life without her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JACK WOKE to pounding—and Chelsea in his arms. Both took him by surprise, more like part of a dream than reality.
But the pounding didn’t quit. And with Chelsea snuggled against him, her body warm, lush and silky, her skin scented with their lovemaking, the last thing he wanted to do was get up and answer the door.
“Jack? I think there’s someone at the door,” Chelsea said sleepily, nuzzling her face into the hollow of his neck.
No kidding. He glanced at the clock over the stove—it was 7:00 a.m. Who in the world—?
Sam? He sat up with a jerk. But why would she be knocking? Why wouldn’t she just come in? There was a thought. The last thing he wanted Sam to do was catch him in bed with Chelsea. Or any other woman.
The moment his bare feet touched the floor, reality hit him between the eyes. What in the hell had he done? And how was he going to explain this to Sam? Especially after he’d told her the birds and bees didn’t get “together” until they were committed to each other.
“Just a minute!” he called as he scrambled to pull on his jeans. It was way too early in the morning for Sam unless something was wrong.
Chelsea sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet over her breasts, blinking awake.
He motioned for her to stay where she was as he opened the door, blinded at first by the sunshine.
Sam? He just caught a glimpse of her and Becky disappearing around the corner of the Harpers’ trailer, both running fast, leaving a trail of giggles behind them. His daughter the practical joker.
He started to close the door when he spotted the bag sitting on the step. Leaning down, he picked it up. On the side of the bag, printed in Sam’s handwriting, were the words: “For Dad and Chelsea.” Then in smaller print: “I hope Chelsea likes lemon-filled doughnuts. Love, Sam.” He felt a rush of love for his matchmaking daughter—and a gut-wrenching worry he’d just hurt her.
“Who is it?” Chelsea whispered.
“The doughnut fairies,” he said, closing the door. “Sam and Becky left us a present.”
Chelsea smiled. “We should get the two of them and take them someplace fun.”
“Chelsea, we need to talk,” he said. “I don’t know what I was thinking—”
“Yes, you do. Jack, didn’t last night prove anything to you?”
“That I have no willpower when it comes to you,” he said disagreeably, feeling as if he’d let them all down.
She reached to take the bag of doughnuts from him, then took his hand and pulled him onto the bed again. “I think last night was a little more than that,” she said quietly, her gaze holding his.
He nodded. “But it didn’t solve the problem between us.”
“That I’m rich and you’re just a poor rodeo cowboy?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“But it doesn’t have to be. There has to be a way. I’ll do whatever it takes, Jack.”
God, she was beautiful, sitting propped against the pillows, the sheet pulled up over her naked body. But he knew now what was under that sheet. After last night, he knew her body as well as his own.
He wanted to tell her how much he
loved her, how much he wanted her in his life, how he would do anything to make this work, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he figured out a way for them to be together more than a night.
Just the thought of waking up next to her every morning made him ache with longing.
She handed him a doughnut. “There’s orange juice, too.”
He took a bite of the pastry.
“Lemon-filled doughnuts are my favorite,” she said.
“You have lemon filling—” with his tongue, he leaned over to lick the corner of her lips “—right there.”
She caught her breath, her lips parting.
It was a combustible situation. Chelsea completely naked. Him only in his jeans. Their reaction was immediate—and explosive.
Her eyes darkened as if the contact had ignited a fire she couldn’t put out. Hungrily, he dropped his mouth to hers, penetrating her with his tongue as he drew her to him, his hands cupping her bare bottom, pressing her into him. They made slow, sweet love again, then just held each other as if there was a storm raging inside the motor home.
Maybe there is a way, Chelsea. But it would have to wait until he took her back to San Antonio. What was another day after waiting this long?
* * *
CHELSEA’S CELL PHONE woke them both a little later. She fumbled for it, answering with a groggy, “Hello?”
“Did I wake you?” Dylan asked, sounding surprised.
She glanced at the clock over the stove. Almost ten. Geez. “No,” she fibbed, sitting up. “What’s going on?”
“You haven’t heard then? C. J. Crocker is dead and Ace Winters is wanted for questioning by the police. I guess Crocker regained consciousness for a short period of time. Now the police are looking for Ace, but he’s disappeared.”
She turned to look out the window. Terri Lyn’s truck and camper were gone. Ace. Had Crocker named Ace as the killer?
Jack raised a brow in question.
“Until Ace’s found, lay low, okay?” Dylan hung up.
Chelsea flipped off her cell phone and told Jack what Dylan had said.
Jack looked shocked and distressed. He glanced toward the spot where Terri Lyn’s truck and camper had been. “Ace. Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He was silent a moment. “Let’s go get Sam. I was thinking maybe we’d stop in Fort Worth on our way to San Antonio.”
