by Ginna Gray
Without the paralyzing apprehension gripping him, he became aware of other things. The smell of Maggie’s perfume wafted to his nose, mixed with the smells of the road—hot asphalt, dust and gas fumes.
Between his legs he felt the low-throated rumble of the Hog’s engine vibrating through him, through both of them. Maggie’s tight little bottom jiggled against his manhood with each tiny reverberation. The erotic abrasion was sweet torture, arousing him almost to the point of madness.
Every bump in the paving rubbed their bodies together. He relished the feel of her legs pressed tight against his inner thighs, the heat and rub of her back against his chest.
The wind caught the long hair that had worked its way from beneath her helmet and whipped it across his face. It caught in his mouth and caressed his skin like strands of silk. Wyatt closed his eyes and groaned.
The ride was the most sensual experience of his life, but if Maggie felt anything beyond the exhilaration of speed and freedom it was not apparent. For almost an hour she guided the powerful bike down the highway. Once in a while she pointed out something or made a comment over her shoulder, but mostly she acted as though she’d forgotten he was there.
When the sun sank below the horizon and the sunset began to fade, she turned around and drove back toward the fairground.
It was full dark when they reached the campsite. Wyatt was not anxious to climb off the bike. He didn’t want to relinquish the close fit of their bodies, nor was he all that sure that his legs would work, after sitting astride the rumbling motorcycle for over an hour. Most of all, though, his concern stemmed from the state of his arousal.
He needn’t have worried. Maggie never even looked his way. The instant he dismounted she gave the Hog some gas and it purred like a lion as she rode it up the ramp and into the trailer at a slow roll.
It seemed to take Maggie forever to stow the bike and lock up. By the time she finally entered the RV, Wyatt had his body under control and had started dinner.
“Mmm, what smells so good?” she asked eagerly.
“Just a ham steak and corn on the cob,” he said curtly and went back to preparing salads, his mouth tight. He whacked up the celery stalks on the cutting board as though they were vicious monsters about to attack him.
Their little jaunt sure as hell hadn’t gotten her hot and bothered. He’d just endured over an hour of the most exquisite sensual torture known to man. Even now he had difficulty holding on to his control.
He felt the heat simmering just below the surface, ready to burst into flame at the least provocation. But did Maggie? Oh no. She bounced around the RV with her usual élan, oblivious to the sexual tension humming around them like a swarm of bees.
Out of the corner of his eye, Wyatt watched her move about the RV. Humming a lively Irish ditty, she went into the bedroom and gave her wild hair a quick brushing. She returned and peeked into the microwave at the corn, then gave him a bright smile. “I’ll be right back in a minute to set the table,” she said, and darted into the bathroom.
When the door shut behind her, Wyatt aimed an annoyed look at it and cleaved a head of lettuce in two with one chop.
* * *
Hours later, Maggie lay in the dark, wide awake. No matter how hard she tried, she could not relax. Her body felt as though there was an electric current zinging through it.
She couldn’t stand this much longer. She’d barely made it through dinner. It had been all she could do to restrain herself from leaping across the table and attacking Wyatt. Who would have thought that a simple motorcycle ride could be so erotic and arousing? She could still feel Wyatt’s body all around hers, the delicious warmth of him.
Maggie groaned and flounced over on her other side. A second later she rose up and gave her pillow a vicious punch and flopped back down. It didn’t help. She was still wide awake as an owl.
She silently recited a string of Gaelic curses. Och, what a fool you are, Margaret Mary Muldoon. What on earth possessed you to think you could share this tiny camper with a sexy hunk like Wyatt and keep your relationship platonic? You’d have a better chance of flying to the moon, you silly creature, you.
The attraction she had felt for him from the first had merely grown stronger by the hour. Sweet Mary and Joseph, everything about the man, every move he made, set her nerve endings aquiver.
There was no help for it. One way or another she was going to have to end this torture, and soon. The way she saw it, she had three choices: she could turn the RV around and hotfoot it back to Houston; she could kick Wyatt out; or...she could give in and do what her body—and yes, dammit, her heart—wanted her to do.
From the front of the camper came the soft rustle of sheets, and the whole rig rocked slightly as Wyatt turned over in bed.
Maggie closed her eyes and groaned.
Chapter Ten
The first flush of dawn lit the eastern horizon when they pulled out of the rodeo campground and took to the highway.
Since they were getting such an early start, Wyatt expected they would cover a lot of ground that day. Slipping off his athletic shoes, he slumped down on his spine in the padded captain’s chair. Head back, eyes half-closed, socked feet crossed at the ankles and propped on the dash, his toes wiggling to the beat of Reba McIntyre singing “Fancy,” he settled down for a long haul.
They had gone barely three miles when Maggie gave an excited cry and slammed on the brakes.
“What the—” Wyatt slid forward out of the chair. He landed hard on his rump, folded in half, legs, head and arms sticking straight up in the air.
The string of curses that spewed from him turned the air in the cab blue, but Maggie didn’t hear them. She swung the lumbering vehicle off the road and brought it to a screeching halt on the shoulder of the highway.
“Look! Oh, look, isn’t that a gorgeous sight.” Excitement glittered like diamonds in her eyes. Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, she bounced on the seat.
Wedged into the small space on the floor between the seat and the dashboard Wyatt tried to extricate himself, grunting and straining and contorting his body like a pretzel.
“Dammit to hell, woman, what’re you trying to do, get us killed! Where did you get your driver’s license, anyway? Out of a grab bag?”
He could have saved his breath. “Oh, this is great! This is just great!” Maggie enthused, oblivious to both his plight and his pithy comments. “I’ve got to try this. If I can get out there before they take off, surely I can find someone who’ll be willing to give me a ride,” she muttered to herself as she quickly checked the rearview mirrors for traffic and pulled back onto the highway.
“Try what? Get a ride on what?” Wyatt demanded. He managed to untangle himself enough to climb to his knees, but just as he craned his neck to look around she made a sharp left turn that sent him slamming against the door. Before he could recover his balance the rig rattled over a cattle guard and bounced across a rough field.
Still on the floorboard on his knees, Wyatt held on to the arms of the captain’s chair for dear life. Maggie drove over the uneven ground so fast his teeth clacked together with each jostle.
The rig had barely come to a complete stop when she jumped out.
“Maggie, come back here! Where are you going?” Wyatt’s head swiveled from one window to another, his eyes growing round as he took in the activity in the field all around them. “Aw, damn.”
Spread out over several acres, dozens of hot-air balloonists were preparing for lift-off, their brightly colored crafts in various stages of readiness: some fully inflated and straining at the tethers that held them earthbound; some stretched out and lying limp on the ground; others slowly taking shape as the hot air plumped out the panels. All around, the roar of burners filled the air.
Wyatt scrambled up off the floor and rammed his feet into his shoes, cursing and straining to keep his eye on Maggie, all the while yanking up the strings and tying them. The second he was done he bailed out of the cab and took off afte
r her at a dead run.
Maggie’s mane of red hair shone like a beacon in the early morning sunshine. Wyatt ran after her, following that bright spot of color bobbing through the crowd.
For a moment he lost sight of her, and his heart took a leap right up into his throat. The damned fool woman. He wouldn’t put it past her to try and talk one of the balloonists into letting her try a solo ride.
He slowed his pace and swiveled his head, cursing under his breath. Then suddenly the milling crowd shifted, and he spotted her, talking to a group of men beside the basket of an inflating balloon that had an enormous rainbow on it. Wyatt shook his head. It figured.
“Maggie, what’re you doing?”
“Wyatt! Isn’t this great? They’re having a rally. Oh, this is Dennis Conn. He owns this balloon. And this is Jack and Boyd and Ricky, his ground crew. This is Wyatt. I explained to Dennis that I write children’s stories and that I would like to include a balloon ride in one.” She flashed a grin, so excited that she did a little jig right there on the spot. “He’s agreed to take us up with him. Isn’t that terrific?”
“Pleased to meet you.” The balloonist stuck out his hand for him to shake, and the other men followed suit. “Like I told Maggie, this isn’t a race, so it won’t matter if you slow me down. We’ll just go up and drift around awhile. We’ll be getting started in about ten minutes. You can go ahead and climb into the basket if you want.”
“If you don’t mind, I need to have a word with Maggie first.”
“Wyatt, what are you doing?” she complained when he hustled her away. “I want to get in the basket and watch the lift-off preparations.”
He started to tell her to forget it, that she wasn’t going joyriding in a balloon, but he remembered in time her reaction when he’d lifted her off the rodeo bull.
“Maggie, listen to me. I think you should give this more thought. People have been killed riding in these things.”
“So? People are killed all the time riding in cars.”
“It’s not the same thing. Can’t you just watch from the ground and write about it?”
“Maybe. But I won’t. And I don’t want to argue about it. Besides, you promised you wouldn’t interfere in what I did, remember?”
“I promised to try, but—”
“No. Not another word. The whole point of you coming along on this trip was to prove you could adapt to my way of life.” She made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “Well, this is it. I live my life. I don’t just watch it go by from the sidelines, and I won’t allow you or anyone else to tell me, or even suggest, what I can or cannot do. Either accept that, right here, right now, or forget this whole thing and get a flight back to Houston.”
Frustration darkened his face and made his whole body rigid. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and stared over her head at the giant balloons dotted across the open field. The muscles in his cheeks worked, and she knew he was grinding his teeth. His effort at restraint took some of the heat out of her ire.
Maggie sighed and tried a coaxing smile. “C’mon, Wyatt. As risks go this isn’t such a big one. People do this all the time. Try it. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”
He muttered something under his breath, then exhaled a gusty sigh. “All right. I’m probably going to regret this, but let’s go.”
* * *
“You see. Didn’t I tell you you’d enjoy it?” Maggie crowed a few hours later, when they climbed back into the RV.
“It was all right,” Wyatt conceded reluctantly.
“‘All right!’ It was terrific. I can hardly wait to put it into a story.”
Grinning, Wyatt sprawled on the sofa and watched her. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed. She was so exhilarated she was almost bouncing off the walls. “You want me to drive so you can work on your laptop?”
“What? Oh, no thanks. I’m too wired to settle down right now. I need to move.” She slipped behind the wheel and started the engine. As the RV began to bump toward the highway she blasted the horn, leaned out the open window and waved. “‘Bye, Dennis! Thanks for the ride! ‘Bye, Boyd, ‘bye, Ricky, ‘bye, Jack. I’ll see you fellas next time through.”
The balloonists shouted back to her, and Maggie laughed and blasted the horn again.
By the time they pulled out onto the highway, Clint Black’s mellow baritone was pouring from the stereo speakers, and Maggie was singing along at the top of her lungs and bouncing to the beat.
Wyatt watched her, a bemused smile on his face. He’d never known anyone like Maggie. She held nothing back. Whatever she felt, she let show; whatever she did, she did with gusto, embracing life and all its experiences with open arms. He wondered if she would make love the same way.
He hadn’t expected to enjoy the balloon ride. He had gritted his teeth and braced for the worst, possibly even disaster. He had to admit, it had been more than just all right. It had been terrific.
To his surprise, after the first lurch of apprehension when the tethers were released and they began to ascend, he had enjoyed himself tremendously.
It had been incredibly peaceful and lovely, floating along high above the ground in absolute silence, broken only now and then by the roaring hiss of the burner. Everything had taken on a new perspective. The mundane worries and problems of the everyday world had seemed far away. The lulling effect of the leisurely pace made it impossible to dwell on anything but the beauty below and the exhilarating sense of soaring free.
The thought brought a frown to his brow. Was that what Maggie felt every time she plunged headlong into a new experience?
* * *
Wyatt considered himself a well-traveled man. He routinely flew to New York, London, Paris, Tokyo, Berlin, all the money capitals of the world, but touring the country in a motor home with a free spirit like Margaret Mary Muldoon turned out to be a novel new experience.
The balloon rally proved to be just the beginning. The days that followed, as they meandered aimlessly through West Texas, revealed sharply Maggie’s restless nature and demonstrated just how much of a creature of impulse and mood she really was.
Whenever she got behind the wheel she crackled with energy and anticipation, eager to be on their way, to see what was over the next hill or around the next bend in the road.
Maggie did not simply travel; she explored, she experienced. If a place looked interesting, whether a town or a stretch of countryside, she stopped and wandered through it. Creeks and rivers beckoned to her to take off her shoes and wade. Meadows of wildflowers had to be smelled and strolled through. Meandering back roads piqued her curiosity, luring her down their dusty paths. Old country stores, abandoned farmhouses and barns, a tree cleaved in two by lightning, a rusty old Model T with a For Sale sign on it, antique stores, small-town cafés, even blatant tourist traps with their outrageous prices and tacky souvenirs—all fascinated her. She even stopped to read the historical markers posted alongside highways.
A native Texan, Wyatt had traveled the state numerous times, both by car and airplane, but seen through Maggie’s eyes, everything looked new and different. She had an almost childlike ability to see beauty and magic in even the most ordinary of things.
The lush green, rolling hill country of central Texas, dotted with lakes and picturesque little towns, drew oohs and ahhs from her.
She looked at the rugged land of mesquite and sage around Abilene and imagined the grit and adventure of frontier days.
As they approached the caprock—the escarpment that jutted six to seven hundred feet up out of the gently rolling West Texas ranch land in an unbroken north-south line for two hundred miles—she saw the power and majestic beauty of nature and was awed by it.
Once on top of the caprock, otherwise known as the Llano Estacado, or the Staked Plains of West Texas, instead of tabletop flat farmland stretching out in furrowed rows for mile after monotonous mile, Maggie saw a rich breadbasket, and marveled at the fortitude of the farmers whose countless hours of toil and sweat had produc
ed such a plentiful bounty.
When they entered New Mexico she raved over the expanse of land and sky and the feeling of solitude and spoke with reverence of how humbling and insignificant the vastness of it made her feel.
At first Wyatt was amused by her enthusiasm, even a bit patronizing, but her zeal and unaffected pleasure was contagious. Before long he found himself looking at things differently, doing things he would never have dreamed he’d do in a million years.
However, Wyatt was a businessman, accustomed to the daily thrust and parry of the corporate world, and the habits of a lifetime were not easy to set aside. Thoughts of business nagged at him. At times he questioned his sanity for coming on the trip. Of course, he’d been questioning his sanity ever since he’d met Margaret Mary Muldoon.
He worried about the deals he’d left hanging fire and how they were faring at Sommersby Enterprises without him. The rational part of him knew that they were most likely doing just fine. He had a top-notch staff that he had handpicked. Still...not knowing made him antsy. In those moments he would have traded his twenty-thousand-dollar watch for access to a telephone or fax machine.
Then, in the middle of his fretting, Maggie would laugh or point out something he’d never noticed, and for a while thoughts of the workaday world back in Houston would recede.
Despite his occasional manic twinges about work, gradually, to his surprise, Wyatt realized that he was truly enjoying himself. He also felt more relaxed than he had since taking over the family business after his father had died.
Just after dark their sixth evening of travel, Maggie announced that she was tired and ready to stop for the night and abruptly pulled off the road.
“What, here?” Wyatt protested, looking around at the empty landscape. They were in the middle of nowhere between Clovis and Fort Sumner, New Mexico.
“It’s as good as any.”
“But I don’t see any lights. There’s no town around here. No campground.”
“So? That’s all the better. I like camping alone.”
