by Calista Fox
Sam said, “My experience with animals is that TLC can sometimes be the best medicine.”
“Yeah. You have a point there. Rudy seems to respond to it.”
From his place at the stove as he scrambled eggs, Sam jerked a brow at her. “Rudy?”
She eyed the pup and gave a slight shake of her head. “I don’t know. Fido is so not right. Spot? Jack? Ideas?”
“I’m thinking more along the lines of Cletus.”
Scarlet stared at Sam. “Seriously?”
“Why not?”
“Cletus,” she slowly repeated. Gave an even slower shake of her head. “Gotta tell you, I’m not seeing it.”
“Hmm. Then it just might be Rudy.”
She snickered. Told the Lab, “He’s totally humoring us. But I like Rudy. How do you feel about it?” Another lick, this one just under her left eye. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Sam chuckled. “One little good-night kiss and you’re namin’ my dog?”
“Someone has to do it. And that kiss might have been little, but it packed a hell of a punch.”
“Sort of like you running around half-naked in my house, wearin’ my sweater. Pretty sure those are my socks, too.”
“They are. You did tell me to help myself to anything.”
His gaze slid up her bare legs and he grinned. “Trust me, I am not complaining.”
Heat rushed through her. Scarlet put the dog in his bed and then set the island for two, now that she knew where everything was located. She poured a cup of coffee for herself, then topped off Sam’s mug. Next, she retrieved the tiny pitcher of creamer from the fridge, along with the orange juice.
Sam flipped pancakes on the griddle and added two small stacks to side plates. He put out a serving bowl filled with the eggs and another plate with bacon and sausage links. Added toast. Scarlet went back to the fridge for the butter and two kinds of jam.
They worked well together. Perfectly in sync. Not bumping into each other. And again, the comfortable silence that stretched between them was enthralling. Enjoyable.
Scarlet was a chatterbox by nature, because her mind was always whirling. But that peaceful feeling she’d experienced last night as she’d lain awake in Sam’s bed and stared up at the snowy pink heavens remained with her this morning. Even after he’d mentioned their brief kiss and following the way he’d so hungrily taken her in from head to toe a few moments ago.
It was too damn bad he’d felt compelled to shower and fully dress before starting breakfast. She would have liked to see him fresh from slumber, in pajama bottoms and nothing else. His brown hair tousled, sleep still in his sky-blue eyes. His voice low and rumbling.
She bit back a moan as desire flared against her clit. She couldn’t imagine anything sexier than waking up between this man and his stepbrother. The three of them naked and huddled together. Their bodies entwined. Sam’s and Michael’s hands on her. Sam kissing her lips, Michael nipping at her neck.
Scarlet pulled in a raspy breath.
Sam eyed her curiously. “What are you thinking over there?” he asked as he settled next to her, on the end of the raised counter.
“Honestly? That you’re wearing too many clothes.”
His laugh was light and stirring. But then as he reached for his coffee, his expression darkened. His eyes glowed seductively, though she didn’t miss the glimmer of something troubling around the fringes.
Scarlet debated whether she should make an inquiry as to the latter or let it lie.
But since beating around the bush wasn’t really her style, she bucked up and said, “You’re sending a lot of mixed signals, Sam.”
“Yeah.” He gave a slight nod. “I know.” He sipped his coffee, then set his mug aside. “On the one hand, I was sort of hoping you’d get lonely in that big bed all by yourself and come downstairs. Crawl under the covers with me, in front of the fire.”
She swallowed down some OJ and a lump of uncertainty before saying, “It’s not like the idea didn’t cross my mind. It was a very appealing notion. But you backed off after that kiss, so I figured me joining you wasn’t what you wanted.”
“It was exactly what I wanted,” he said with conviction, pinning her with a solid look. But as was usually the case, there was contradiction rimming his irises. “It was also not what I wanted.”
Needing to get to the heart of the matter, because Scarlet wasn’t one for riddles or games, she ventured, “This is about Cassidy, isn’t it? This was going to be her home. The two of you were going to live here.”
“She never set foot in this house,” he vehemently said, his sudden intensity taking Scarlet by surprise. “So there are no ghosts haunting me here.”
“But in your mind…?”
“I have reservations,” he confessed.
“You mean demons.”
He stared at her.
Scarlet told him, “I never, ever talk about my parents’ deaths. In fact, I rarely speak of them in general. I didn’t have much difficulty doing it with you last night. I can understand how you feel. I empathize with you. And I will admit that my inability to really process what happened to them and release all of my horror and pain makes it extremely hard for me to get close to people. It’s why I don’t date. Anything could happen, and I don’t feel I’m fully equipped to deal with another personal tragedy. But then again…”
She chewed over this new direction of conversation and a piece of sausage. Sam waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts. They were still a bit murky; her insides a bit tangled.
Eventually, Scarlet said, “I feel as though I know precisely what you’re going through. Maybe it’s not fully true, but I do have a good idea. And so I understand that you wanted to kiss me, but that you didn’t want to. That you wanted me to come to you last night. But that you didn’t want me to. The desire is there. But so, too, are the demons.”
“I’ve always been aggressive when it comes to my desires. No–holds–bared. But with you?” His eyes bored into her. “There’s something about you. Something that tells me it wouldn’t just be sex.”
“And that bothers you.”
“Bothers you, too,” he pointedly said. “Otherwise, you really would have crawled under the covers with me.”
Scarlet considered this as she finished her breakfast. She couldn’t deny he’d hit the nail on the head. The problem was, she couldn’t exactly say it was just sex with Michael, either. Because she continued to think of him. And wanted to explore more with him.
This was all getting very convoluted. Scarlet suspected a little advice and perspective from Jewel and Bayli might be in order.
But now wasn’t the time for that.
Sam pushed back his stool and stood. He collected dishes and took them to the sink to rinse them off and load them into the dishwasher. Scarlet helped him, not saying anything. Not entirely sure what it was she was supposed to say.
She relished the nearness of him. Inhaled his scent, purposely brushed her arm against his as they worked. Felt all the sparks and exhilaration he’d so easily incited from the second she’d gotten out of her rental and absorbed the full effect of Sam Reed.
Lover of horses. Rescuer of abused and abandoned puppies. Savior of damsels in distress. Builder of breathtaking homes.
He was like the Horse Whisperer, John Wayne, and Frank Lloyd Wright all rolled into one.
With the exterior of a Hugh Jackman–Chris Hemsworth mash-up.
It was no wonder she was having premature hot flashes.
Sam collected the silverware, put it in the basket, and turned on the cycle. Standing behind Scarlet, he reached around her on both sides to wash his hands at the sink she blocked.
He sniffed her hair and said, “I see why Rudy burrows against your neck.”
A sensuous shudder chased down her spine. Leaving her a little breathless as she said, “You’re not seriously going to call him that.”
“It’s starting to grow on me.”
“Clearly Old Yeller’s out of
the question.”
“Clearly.” He wiped his hands, then added, “I have work to do in the stables. Your tire will be delivered this afternoon, so make yourself at home.”
“I have e-mails and such to catch up on. I brought my laptop, so I’ll be fine. I assume you have WiFi?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Well then. I’m all set.”
He gazed at her a few seconds more. Eventually he said, “I didn’t have any involvement in the disappearance of my mother’s art collection, Scarlet. In fact, I was angry that it happened, because it really broke her heart. That gift from Mitcham meant a lot to her. I don’t give a damn that Michael and I have trouble relating to him. Somehow, Mitcham clicks with my mother. If you saw them together, you’d be shocked, I’m sure. But you’d also get what I’m talking about.”
She sighed in resignation. “I can see how the FBI ran out of suspects.”
He swept his warm fingertips over her cheek. “You believe me?”
“Hard not to. You have a solid alibi. Misty and Pembroke corroborated Michael’s story and I’m sure there were plenty of witnesses to see the four of you enter and leave the guesthouse at the times you and Michael both stated.”
“I don’t have any reason to lie about it.”
“No, I suppose not.” She was contemplative a moment, then added, “I also rely on character. I’m a great judge of it, and I have no reason to doubt either of you. Michael’s a bit pissy with me when it comes to my questioning, but I can recognize now what that’s all about. He was born with a phenomenal foundation, but he had to build the walls on his own. He doesn’t appreciate someone taking a hammer to what he’s constructed. I’m an intruder and that sets him on edge.”
“Very astute.” Sam’s head bent to hers and he gave her another of the feathery kisses that teased her senseless. As much as she wanted him to just haul her up against his hard chest and kiss the hell out of her, the way Michael would do, she found Sam’s emotional and physical tug-of-war titillating. Perhaps because she knew that when the dam broke they’d both be overpowered by lust and longing.
And that was a sexy thought, rife with anticipation and danger.
He grinned at her, as though reading her mind and liking the fantasies she wove. Then he spun on his boot heels and headed out.
Scarlet released another long breath. Fanned her flaming face with her hand.
She had the distinct feeling that she and Sam were on a crash course to spontaneous combustion.
And it was going to be explosive.
TEN
Sam took an all-terrain vehicle to the stables, adjacent to the indoor and outdoor arenas. There were several trucks in the drive. Some belonging to his employees, who maintained the grounds and facilities. A couple belonging to his students or their parents.
Sam had learned from Phil Bert how to train horses and riders. Sam had been into roping at first, upon his first exposure to horses. Then he’d taken an interest in jumping. Had studied the mechanics of it, spent time at competitions to catalog everything associated with the approach, takeoff, and execution. Had competed himself. Sam had a natural talent for riding, and his horses had always been sturdy and steady beneath him.
He’d also spent ample time observing as Phil Bert had instructed champion riders of various ages and stages of expertise.
Bonding with a horse was probably one of the greatest joys in life, Sam surmised. They were intelligent, fascinating creatures. They emitted and absorbed emotion. And, quite frankly, when you were mostly an inner-city kid who’d never visited so much as a petting zoo suddenly being surrounded by these magnificent animals—and watching them soar through the air, clearing fence after fence—was not only thrilling but also therapeutic.
Maybe that was why Sam preferred viewing and studying “free jumping.” The absence of a rider gave the horse freedom from that additional weight burden, and Sam could evaluate the animal’s skills and trajectory. Its temperament and fluidity. Just admire it for its grace and beauty.
Sam headed into the enclosed arena and spent a couple of hours with two junior female jumpers. Then he stopped into the stables, where more of his employees tended to the horses. The stalls were large and each one had an attached outdoor corral. Sam tried to create as much room as he could for the horses to safely roam. And he was fortunate to have a number of skilled trainers and caretakers on hand. Even the vet stopped by once a day. Inclement weather be damned.
Sam made the rounds with the horses, because he enjoyed their company and always wanted to ensure they were in tip-top shape. Then he went to the utility sink to wash up, cranking on the faucet.
“Son of a bitch!” He swore a blue streak as water shot out, drenching his T-shirt and face.
Sixty-something gray-haired Winston “Win” Daughtry ambled from the main office and asked, “Everything okay, boss?”
Sam tossed him a smirk. Flicked a hand at his wet chest. “Does it look like everything’s okay?”
Win chuckled. “Sorry about that, boss. I forgot to tell you the faucet’s broke. I called Harvey. He’s coming out tomorrow. So, uh … Don’t use the sink until then.”
Sam yanked a few paper towels from the dispenser, pressed them to his chest, and sardonically said, “Thanks for the heads-up.”
His employee and friend told him, “I would have mentioned it sooner, but I’ve been on the phone with Jeanette Hadley, who’s willing to come up from Phoenix and work with Layton Travers and his horse to help groom them for nationals. Like you wanted.”
“Layton’s ready for the big time. Jeanette will be an additional asset to his training.”
“So good news there. Might wanna change your shirt, though.” Win returned to the office.
It was noon, so Sam made his way to the house. He found Scarlet at the dining table tapping rapidly on the keyboard of her laptop while also speaking into her Bluetooth earpiece. She’d taken a shower and changed into a sweater and jeans with hiking boots. Too bad. He’d liked her in his clothes. Liked her bare legs even more.
When he entered she dropped off her call and said, “I made venison stew with the leftover roast. I hope you don’t mind. I got the recipe off the Internet and it was really about the only thing I could whip up. Not so handy in the kitchen, you know?”
“I think you’ve been doing just fine.” He went down on his haunches to get a good look at Rudy, huddled under the table at Scarlet’s feet. “And you are definitely loving every minute of it.”
“He yipped,” she said.
Sam’s head popped up. “Pardon me?”
She snapped the lid of her computer closed and said, “He heard a noise coming from the driveway, took a few seconds to decide whether he actually wanted to get to his feet, finally did, then yipped. Just once. A little one. It was cute. Not exactly authoritative, but let’s keep that between the two of us. No need to give him any sort of inferiority complex.”
Sam grinned. “He must’ve heard Brent with the snow mover. Comes by after a good dumping and clears it all out so folks can get up that long drive.”
“Lots of activity around here.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of nice.”
“And what’s with the wet look?”
Sam glanced down at his soaked chest. “Small accident in the stables.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up. Then he stalked into the laundry room. Went to the back where the machines were, stripped off his shirt, and tossed it into the dryer. He grabbed a clean T-shirt from a recently folded load on the shelf and turned to head into the kitchen.
Scarlet was standing along the pantry counter, where she’d apparently been gathering a few treats for Rudy from the box. But her gaze was fixated on Sam, her hand mid-air. She gaped.
A surge of testosterone had him taking a few steps toward her, another grin on his face.
The long cords of her neck pulled tight as she drew in a deep breath.
Sam said, “Like what you see, darlin’?”
She was drink
ing him in. Looking a bit spellbound.
He closed the gap between them, until they were mere inches from each other. He tossed the shirt on the counter. Placed a hand on her hip. She released the treats in her fist and instead gripped the granite ledge behind her.
Sam’s thumb slid under the hem of her sweater and swept over her silky skin. Brushing back and forth.
His head lowered to hers and he said, “No mixed signals here. I’m telling you exactly what I want. Touch me, Scarlet.”
She continued to stare at him. The anticipation mounted. His cock throbbed in wild beats.
Finally, she pried her good hand from the ledge and her nails skated over his abs, the light touch causing his muscles to flex. Her fingertips moved slowly upward to his pecs. She clearly marveled over him and that excited him even more.
As her palm skimmed over his shoulder and down his biceps, she offered him her other hand. “Take the bandage off.”
He carefully removed it. Then she used both hands to roam his chest and stomach. His back. Setting inch of him ablaze. Until he couldn’t stand the torment another second and his mouth pressed to hers for but a brief moment before their lips parted and their tongues tangled.
He kissed her deeply, passionately. Red-hot desire flashed through him. An erotic awakening only she could spark. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she succumbed to him, let him pull her in, kiss her more fervently. His hand slipped under her sweater and grazed her rib cage before he cupped her breast and squeezed. A bit roughly, no doubt conveying his need for her.
His other arm encircled her waist, keeping her close to him. Christ, she made him hard. So quickly, so painfully. All he could think of was sliding into her warm, wet depths.
Well, he had something else in mind first.
Breaking the kiss, he shoved the sweater up and over her head, heaping it on top of his discarded shirt. He palmed her breasts and kneaded them through the lacy material of her bra as his lips glided over her throat. A soft moan escaped her, spurring him on. Jesus … making him even harder.
