by Caroline Lee
“Well, if he didn’t know we’re here already, he does now,” Cora muttered wryly under her breath as she tucked her sketchbook into the saddlebag.
The look Verrick gave her wasn’t nearly as undecipherable as his looks used to be, as a glint of amusement lit his golden eyes. Was Cora just better at reading his reactions and emotions? Or was he sharing more with her than he had been back at the ranch?
Taking the reins in one fist, he led his horse across the grass, and she hurried to follow. Of course, there was no way she’d manage anything as silent as his walk, but it was nice to be included.
And it was no surprise when Verrick bent to scoop up a dead rabbit, or the other two within a few paces. Of course he hadn’t missed once, and now they’d have fresh meat for supper.
“Teach me,” she blurted, before she could think about it.
He finished tying the rabbits to his saddle and lifted one perfect golden brow in her direction.
“To shoot?” he clarified.
She knew how to shoot. Her brothers lived in Texas, and she’d always known she’d have a home there if she wanted. Her brother Jacob had taught her to use a rifle years ago, and in June, after she’d arrived at Sunset Valley, she’d had Blake further her instructions. She wasn’t the best shot with a rifle, but she knew the mechanics.
Still, learning the mechanics wasn’t what she had in mind from Verrick, so she held his gaze and nodded slowly.
He dusted off his hands, then pulled the Winchester from the scabbard once more. Nodding to her to secure her reins beside his to the scrub brush which had once been the rabbits’ home, he stepped further away from the horses.
When he lifted the Winchester and began pointing out various mechanisms of the rifle, Cora hurried over, making sure her arm touched his when she moved up beside him. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he did, but didn’t care—so she just smiled privately and nodded along.
“It is important to remember this weapon is a tool. Do not point it at anything you don’t want to kill, and remember to let go of your emotions when you pick it up.”
That seemed unlikely. “Really? You’ve never used your guns to intimidate?”
He gave her an inscrutable look. “I have never drawn my guns in anger, or anything other than defense. Either to protect myself or the person I was hired to protect.”
Her eyebrows went up. His expression might’ve been blank, but his tone and emphasis told her this was important. He’d only ever used his guns in defense—like during the summer, when he’d drawn to protect his son and Shannon. And it didn’t take much convincing that a man who didn’t seem to feel emotion had never drawn in anger.
Still, it was significant.
“So if you only draw to protect someone, and if you’ve never been beaten, does that mean you’ve always successfully completed your contracts?”
One of his brows twitched. “I have never failed,” he said with as much arrogance as she’d ever heard from him.
She nodded slowly. “I believe you.”
He waited a moment, then nodded in return, as if dismissing the entire discussion.
When he offered her the rifle, she took it in her arms and stood as Blake had taught her. But when Verrick nudged her forearm into a better position, then stepped behind her, Cora shuddered slightly. Shooting with Sunset Valley’s foreman had never made her heart beat faster and her breath catch in her throat.
And when Verrick actually bracketed her arms with his, settling her into a more comfortable stance, Cora stopped breathing altogether.
“Find your target,” he murmured against her ear. “If it’s moving, track it and shoot where it will be, rather than where it is.”
He shifted his weight, pulling the barrel of the Winchester easily a few degrees to the right to demonstrate, as if they had a real target. Cora tried to concentrate on his words, on the skill she knew he possessed and was willing to share, but all she could think about was the strength of his arms around her and the memory of waking with his hand in hers.
“Brace your weight.” His knee settled against the inside of her thigh, and he pushed until she shifted slightly. “A long shot is always easiest if you’re prone. And remember, your profile offers a smaller target.”
She swallowed, trying to remember to breathe, never mind all the tips he was providing. “Is that likely?” she asked with a shaky chuckle. “Needing to worry about being a target, I mean.”
Behind her, he stilled. It was hard to notice, because the man was preternaturally still at times, but pressed against him as she was, Cora had no trouble feeling. Verrick froze, even his breathing halting, for a long moment, as if he was thinking about her question.
Finally, he exhaled slightly, and she shivered again.
“I worry about being a target, and I am instructing you. Therefore you should learn what I know. Although…” He swallowed, and a swallow shouldn’t be audible, but Cora heard it nonetheless. “I find myself uncomfortable considering you becoming a target.”
At his words, her eyes sprung open from the half-mast they’d been relegated to as she reveled in the feel of him pressed against her. She smiled, knowing he couldn’t see it, and knowing his “uncomfortableness” meant he cared.
For her.
Hallelujah.
“I’m uncomfortable considering you becoming a target too, Verrick,” she admitted in a whisper. “I know that’s what the entire point of this adventure is, but I just wanted you to know that.”
This time, he shifted behind her, as if uncomfortable with the topic. Oh well, the man had to know she cared for him, right?
Verrick would never do something as crass or ill-at-ease as clear his throat, but the noise he made sounded suspiciously like that.
“When you are sure of your aim, exhale,” he said, all business again.
That’s when he closed his hand around hers, where it rested against the trigger guard, and guided her index finger against the trigger…and Cora didn’t have to worry about exhaling, because suddenly her lungs forgot to work.
His cheek rested against hers as he stood over her shoulder. “Keep your target in sight.”
How did he manage to smell so good? He’d been on the trail as long as she had, but he still smelled of mint and wood smoke and leather and perfection. Cora realized she was inhaling too much, as if she could force his very essence into her lungs, and struggled to follow his instructions.
“Exhale,” he reminded her softly, and she did. “Then hold everything for a heartbeat, and…”
He gently squeezed her finger, which was pressed against the trigger, and the Winchester fired towards the distant imaginary target. The recoil wasn’t much, but enough to press her back against him, and she didn’t even pretend to fight it. No, instead she reveled in the way it felt to push all of herself against all of him.
And in that moment, with her backside pressed up against his pelvis, she felt the evidence that Verrick wasn’t nearly as detached as he sometimes pretended to be.
The man was attracted to her, despite that disastrous kiss yesterday, and the knowledge made her smile.
Cora knew what she wanted, and now she knew Verrick wanted it too.
She would have him.
Dinner was shaping up to be delicious. While she sketched his motions in the small brown book, Cora had watched as Verrick expertly skinned and prepared the rabbits, then skewered them for roasting. And unlike the months of silence she’d endured from him on the ranch, when she asked him questions now, he answered them. He even let her help with one of the animals, although he did make a few corrections to the way she held the knife.
And each time he touched her, Cora felt that little spark of something ignite. The heat was building between them; surely she wasn’t imagining it? Each time their hands brushed against one another, each time she remembered the hard length of him pressed against her backside, each time she remembered the way his gorgeous eyes had flashed in amusement, that warmth grew.
; It grew until, sitting there cross-legged on the ground beside the small fire, Cora wondered how she hadn’t burst into flames herself. Watching the way he moved—graceful and athletic as he cared for the horses—she realized she was biting her lower lip. How would those hands, the one so confident as they stroked the animal’s neck, feel against her skin? Would he be confident then, or hesitate? Would she care?
Perhaps whatever they’d shared today had affected him too. She saw him stop twice while he was working with the horses to roll his shoulders. When he was finished, he twisted oddly, and grunted, then rolled his shoulders once more. Almost as if he had something stuck under his skin as well.
Cora’s lips pulled up just slightly at the thought of her being the one to make him so itchy and awkward.
That’s when he muttered something and crossed to a large fir tree. As she watched, he placed the middle of his back against the rough trunk and flexed a little, scratching whatever was bothering him.
“What are you doing?” The laughter burst out of her the same time as the words, even though the answer was obvious.
And bless him, Verrick scowled. An actual scowl! He was actually showing emotion to her, albeit while he was jerking up and down in front of a tree. Goodness, his nice clean shirt wouldn’t remain so for very long, would it?
“I have an itch,” he muttered, still frowning at her.
She was still chuckling when she packed up her sketchbook and rolled to her feet. “Come here,” she beckoned. “You really are like a big cat, aren’t you?”
He crossed the little clearing they’d found, his brows drawn in, although his lips had straightened to their typical stoicism once more. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“A big cat. You move like a tiger, or a panther or something. Turn around.” She gestured before he could respond to her ridiculous comment, and when he did, she lifted both sets of fingernails to the middle of his back. “You’re so graceful all the time, but even cats get itchy.”
“I’m not—”
He broke off with a groan of pleasure as she began to scratch, and hunched his shoulders a bit as he moved into a more comfortable position. Cora just grinned and widened her scratching-area, content to let him direct the treatment where he wanted. He groaned again, and her smile faded as her breathing got shallower, wondering what it would be like to hear him make that noise for an entirely different reason.
Like, maybe, while he held her in his arms?
Could she make him groan in pleasure? Not because she was scratching some itch, but because he liked being with her? She found herself chewing on her bottom lip again.
He made another noise—it was abrupt and harsh, not a groan—as he straightened. “If I’m a cat,” he said as he moved towards the fire, not looking at her, “then you’re something small and furry. Cheerful. Cute.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment? “Did you just call me a rodent? Don’t cats chase mice?” she said a little teasingly.
He squatted beside the roasting rabbits and carefully turned them. Cora tried not to stare at the way the material of his trousers bulged across the muscles of his thighs.
“No,” he finally said, as if he’d been thinking about it all this time. “Not a prey animal. Something strong, but which looks weak. Something which forces the hunter to reevaluate his plans and opinions. A fox, perhaps.”
She liked the idea of making him reevaluate his opinion of her. What had he first thought of her, the day they’d met on the porch of the ranch? He’d looked at her as if she could be a threat, and she’d seen the moment he’d dismissed her. So she’d stared right back, smirking, letting him know she wouldn’t be dismissed that easily.
And she hadn’t been. Months later, and she was still apparently under his skin.
Cora smiled. “A vixen, eh? I can live with that,” she said smugly.
Gold flashed as he glanced her way. “Oh good.” His words managed to be blander than usual. “I’m thrilled by your approval.”
She burst into laughter once more. “Your jokes are getting better!”
He lowered his chin slightly. In agreement? Appreciation? She couldn’t tell, because his impassive gaze was now firmly locked on the meat, but the idea made her chuckle harder.
“Would you like to learn to make biscuits?”
His question startled her into silence, and she half-wondered if that had been his plan. Still, she rocked back on her heels, excited to learn something new.
“I’ve made them with Shannon plenty of times, but always in the oven.”
Standing, he nodded and crossed to his saddlebags. As he pulled out the various implements needed, he explained the process in his usual curt manner.
“Now sprinkle the water on top,” he instructed her a few minutes later. She was squatting in front of the pan, mixing the flour with some of the lard from the carefully-wrapped package he’d been carrying, following his instructions. “Once you’ve kneaded it all together, roll the dough into biscuits and place them in the pan once more.”
She chuckled slightly to herself as she attempted to do as he said. “You make it sound so simple.” There. Her biscuits were small and hard and would likely taste like coal. She held up her dough-covered hands in defeat. “I hope I don’t poison us.”
“Unlikely,” he murmured as she bent down to pick up the pan, looking impeccably clean beside her flour-y self. “I watched you the entire time, and there was no arsenic.”
Another joke!
So she was smiling as she washed her hands in the water from the canteens they’d refilled that day. “I think we should just accept that, as much as I would love to bake, it’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?” he asked without looking at her. “Becoming proficient at a skill requires practice. You are practicing.”
She snorted softly. “Maybe after a few years of practice I’ll make an edible cake.” One he’d want to eat.
He’d stilled at her words, then squatted beside the fire once more. “I—” He flicked his golden gaze towards her, then back to the meat. “I am sorry if I insulted you by not sharing your cake.”
He was?
Cora frowned slightly as she wiped her hands on her shirt and considered his words. Whatever his reasons, she couldn’t imagine him setting out to intentionally hurt her feelings. So she shrugged and crossed back to her place beside him.
“I think we should just admit it’s not one of my talents. You, on the other hand” —she jerked her chin at him as she picked up a few blades of grass to twist into a ring— “have innate talents. And apparently making a delicious dinner from scratch, out in the middle of nowhere, is one of them,” she finished in a weak attempt at humor.
He was silent for a moment. “I’ve spent many years alone in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t cook anything myself when I started.”
“I don’t believe you were ever as incapable as me.”
His head jerked up, and he pierced her with a fierce glare. “Do not depreciate your value.”
Wow.
It was the first time she’d seen him look so passionate.
No, that wasn’t true. The day Pierce had come to Sunset Valley to kill Lucas, Verrick had been equally fervent.
Cora wondered if there was any way he could feel a portion for her of what he felt for his son.
He was still glaring at her, so she swallowed whatever plea she might’ve voiced. “What’s my value, then?” she asked softly. “Besides painting. I mean, I know I’m a good painter. People pay me for my art, and I pay my way through life.” She shrugged, knowing that was the truth at least. “That’s not— Well, it’s value, but it’s not the same thing.”
He turned back to the fire and twisted the spits around. “You bring others laughter,” he finally said. “Surely bringing joy is of greater value than knowing how to bake?”
I bring laughter.
The simple statement caused emotion to close off her throat as Cora struggled to blink back tea
rs. I bring joy. His kindness probably didn’t mean a thing to him, but to her…
To her, a woman who’d never really had a place, and had responded by making herself at home wherever she went… A woman who’d been treated by her family, the ones who should matter most, as second-class because she wasn’t interested in settling down… A woman who had cultivated the adoration of the art world because it was the only thing left to her…
Well, it meant a lot, that was for certain.
She forced herself to respond, to brush off the words. “But if cake brings you joy…”
Verrick met her eyes, and she saw he’d seen her emotional response, even if he didn’t comment on it.
“It does.”
His words were simple, but she sucked in a breath when she understood them.
Verrick loves cake.
She nodded stiffly and tried a weak smile. “Then I shall learn to bake better cakes,” she declared in a whisper.
He blinked, and his normally impassive expression turned… Well, if she didn’t know him better, she would’ve said there was a bit of wanting there. He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded as well.
“That would be good.”
This time, it didn’t sound like a joke. This time, it sounded as if he was trying to apologize for Sunday. As if he was urging her to make another cake, so he could find joy in it.
And just like that, Cora knew it was time. Time for him to understand how she felt about him.
“Excuse me,” she murmured as she stood up and stumbled towards the woods.
She’d been waiting for this moment almost since the moment she’d met Verrick. Certainly since her attraction had turned to intrigue. And definitely since she’d discovered the depth of his love for Lucas.
The man was gorgeous, compelling, fascinating, and confident enough to make her shudder. He was different from every other man she’d ever met, yes, but that was part of his appeal. He didn’t hold with the social niceties others practiced, and eschewed things he saw as illogical or unnecessary. Of course, that was part of his appeal, and he was most definitely appealing to her.
