It was almost nine before she broke free. She looked around for Ry, but he was gone. She checked the porch, even asked the couple who had spent most of the evening with him, but nobody could tell her where he was. At last, she decided to try the cottage.
The John Wayne Room couple had blown it, she thought as she approached the small building, which was a miniature of the main house, complete with red-tiled roof, whitewashed adobe and a front porch shaded with a sweet-smelling jasmine vine. Freddy always gave the cottage to honeymooning couples, but none had presented themselves in the German group, so she’d picked at random, thinking she’d offered them a treat.
Ry wasn’t sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs occupying the front porch, but a light shone from the window. Freddy tapped on the door.
“Come in,” he called, and she opened the carved door, wondering why he hadn’t bothered to get up to answer the knock.
He was sitting on the bed talking on the phone, his briefcase open beside him and papers spread over the white comforter. He glanced up, his eyes widening. He covered the mouthpiece. “I’ll just be a minute.”
She half turned toward the door. “I could come back—”
“No. I’ll be through soon.”
She pulled out one of the captain’s chairs next to a small table in the corner and sat down. She hadn’t been in here for a while and had forgotten the charm of the décor. She automatically checked for cobwebs in the beamed ceiling or any yellowing of the Battenburg lace trimming the white comforter and the curtains at the windows. Like most of the beds at the ranch, the one in the cottage was an antique four-poster paired with a dark wood dresser and end table. Ry’s hat hung on a post at the foot of the bed, in typical cowboy fashion. His boots were propped in a corner, and his shirt was unsnapped almost to his waist. It was warm in the room, and Freddy wondered if the air conditioner was broken. She’d have to ask.
Everything else looked in good shape. From what she could see of the bathroom, the clawfoot tub looked clean and the towels neatly arranged. The bathroom’s tile floor gleamed in the light from the bedroom, and the pine floors of the bedroom looked recently oiled. No stains marred the geometric-patterned Indian rugs on the floors. As Freddy might have expected, Rosa ran a tight ship. Everything was perfect.
“No, I want to get into Eurodollars now,” Ry said, running his fingers through his hair. “I know that’s risky but I think it’ll pay off. I appreciate your handling this for me.” He paused and looked over at Freddy. “It’s great. Riding bucking broncos and everything.” He winked at Freddy. “You bet! Bring Susie and the kids. Okay. Talk to you tomorrow.”
He hung up the phone and started gathering up the papers. “To what do I owe this honor?”
Freddy’s grip tightened on the arm of the chair. She’d been practicing her apology ever since Dexter had dropped his bombshell. But now words deserted her. She didn’t know where to begin. “Isn’t your air conditioner working?” she asked instead.
“It’s working.” He tapped the papers together and tucked them into his briefcase. “I’m just getting used to the heat, I guess. I decided not to turn it on.” He snapped the case closed and put it beside the bed.
“So I see.”
He glanced down at his unbuttoned shirt. “Does this offend you, ma’am?” he asked with a deadpan expression.
No, it excited her. She took refuge in a bored tone of voice. “Of course not. I work around a ranch full of men who sometimes, believe it or not, take off their shirts in my presence.”
“Funny, but my experience around you has had more to do with pants than shirts.”
She flushed, or maybe it was just the heat affecting her. But if he could live without air-conditioning, so could she. After all, she was the one raised in this country; he’d been here less than two weeks. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work,” she said, gesturing toward the briefcase. “It must be difficult keeping up with Wall Street when you’re this far away.”
“It’s been difficult, but possible, which is something I wanted to find out. I’ll definitely need to spend time in New York, but not as much as I thought at first.”
She stared at him. “You sound as if you’re planning to take up residence at the True Love.”
His gaze was steady. “I am.”
“Why?”
“Because I like it here.”
She hadn’t counted on this. Not by a long shot. “You’d uproot yourself just like that? Change your whole life?”
“I think you advised me once to get a life.”
“I was joking. Surely you have ties to New York, people you don’t want to leave.”
He nodded. “Two couples Linda and I spent time with, and a good friend who works in commodities with me. I just talked to him. You heard me invite him and his family out here, and I’ll go back there from time to time. It’s not as if I have to spend weeks on a stagecoach to keep in touch.”
“But life out here is so different.”
“Which is why I like it. I’ve discovered I’d rather ride Red Devil than play handball with the guys at the gym.”
She swallowed the nervousness rising in her throat. “What about...girlfriends?”
“Why do you want to know?” he asked with a smile.
Heat rose to her cheeks. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Yes, you do. I’ve dated in the past few years, but nothing’s ever clicked. In other words, I don’t have a lover waiting for me back home, Freddy.” The warmth of his gaze made her look away in confusion.
“We have a limited number of guest rooms,” she said, studying the pattern of the Indian rug. “I’m not sure where you will be able to stay. We already have several weekends booked solid for the winter season.”
Ry appeared unfazed by her objection. “Then I’ll sleep in the bunkhouse. I noticed not every bed is in use down there. If necessary, I’ll set up a cot in the tack shed. Don’t worry. I won’t take up much space.”
“The bunkhouse?” She glanced up. “That doesn’t seem like the right place for one of the owners.”
“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I can’t very well make you or Leigh sleep there, although the hands would think it was a fine idea. According to Duane, most of them get up every morning with a song of happiness on their lips because they work for those good-looking Singleton sisters.”
Freddy examined a worn spot on the knee of her jeans. “Duane talks too much.”
“He talks a lot more than I would have given him credit for when he picked me up at the airport. I guess he really hates big cities.”
Freddy chuckled and looked up. “He sure does. He says if we ever give him his walking papers, we might as well shoot him and get it over with. He needs to stay near Tucson because his ex-wife and two kids are here, and there aren’t a lot of ranching jobs in the area, he’d be stuck looking for a job in town. Can you imagine Duane flipping burgers?”
“No.” He paused. “Duane’s not too happy with me at the moment. I guess you told him I wasn’t in favor of reinstating the rodeo.”
“I didn’t think it was a secret.”
“It isn’t.” A corner of his mouth turned up. “But now he’s threatening to put my saddle in the greenhorn tack shed.”
“I’m not surprised. There are two people you don’t want to get on the wrong side of around here. Duane’s one, and Belinda’s the other.”
“Belinda?” He raised his eyebrows. “She’s the sweetest lady I’ve ever met.”
“Cross her and see how sweet she is. She’d do anything to protect those near and dear to her. So would Duane, for that matter.”
“Then it looks as if I’d better find a way to pacify Duane.”
“By having a rodeo?” she asked.
“No.”
“But you love riding broncs!”
“And I can’t very well sue myself, can I?”
Freddy knew she was stalling, putting off the moment she’d have to apologize for making an issue of the
calendar page. Facing this subject was much tougher than rising with dignity out of the horse trough. She looked down at her hands and laced her fingers together as she tried to remember how she’d planned to word her statement.
“What is it, Freddy?”
Startled by the nearness of his voice, she lifted her head and discovered he’d left the bed and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “I owe you an apology,” she said softly.
“What for now?”
She frowned. “That wasn’t nice.”
“Sometimes I’m not nice.” His eyes had darkened to navy as he stood before her in his bare feet, his shirt open just enough for her to follow the downward spiral of his chest hair to the waistband of his jeans. The scent of horse, male sweat and musk assailed her.
“I didn’t realize when I made such a thing of that calendar page that you...that it was the day when...Ry, I didn’t know. Dexter told me. If I’d only realized...” She trailed off, failing miserably to make the smooth statement of regret she’d practiced so many times in her head.
“I know,” he said gently. “And I wasn’t man enough to tell you the reason I ripped it out. It’s not your fault.”
She swallowed and looked away. He was man enough for anything she could imagine.
“Was that why you came here?”
She nodded. “I felt terrible. You must still love her very much.”
He gazed out the window and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll always care about her, but that isn’t why I mangled your calendar page,” he said at last.
Freddy sat very still. She sensed the slightest movement or word from her might send him back behind the wall he’d built around this tragedy.
When he spoke, his voice was a strained monotone. “Even after eight years, I hate being reminded of that day because I keep thinking I should have been able to do something to keep it from happening.” He looked at her, his expression tormented. “Punks, that’s all they were! Not one of them with a tenth of her potential. When she wouldn’t give them her briefcase, which was typical of Linda’s defiant attitude, they shot her.” He snapped his fingers. “Gone, like that, all that talent, beauty, sense of humor.” He began to pace the length of the room. “When the cops finally got them, they couldn’t understand the big deal! They had no idea what they’d done with that one, impersonal bullet.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “No idea.”
Freddy got to her feet, her heart beating a slow, painful rhythm. No one should have to endure something like this, she thought. And certainly not alone. “It was random violence,” she murmured, crossing to him and resting her hands lightly on his arms. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”
He met her gaze. “Maybe not. But when we were first married, I’d meet her at her office and we’d walk home together. Then our schedules got crazy and I stopped doing it. If I’d kept it up, then—”
“She would have accused you of overprotecting her,” Freddy said, tightening her grip on his arms.
The anguish in his eyes eased a fraction and he nodded. “Probably.”
“I would have,” she continued. “I’d never stand for some man chaperoning me everywhere, implying I couldn’t take care of myself.”
His hands came up to cup her elbows and he smiled faintly. “I know. You remind me of her sometimes.”
Freddy relaxed her grip and stepped back. Was that what this was all about? She didn’t want to be a reminder of his late wife.
“And you didn’t appreciate my saying that, did you?”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I guess no woman wants to be a stand-in.”
With a short humorless laugh, he reached for her, grabbing her arms and pulling her resistant body close enough that his breath feathered against her face. “That’s the last thing I’d ever label you, Frederica Singleton. You’re unique, and you’ve been driving me crazy since the day I saw you.”
She lifted her chin. “Because I’m like Linda?”
“I’m attracted to strong women. You fit in that category, and so did Linda, but that’s where it ends, Freddy.” His voice grew tender as a caress. “When we kiss, it’s you I’m kissing.” His fingers kneaded the pliant flesh of her upper arm. “When I ache for a lover, you’re the one I want.” His words became a whisper. “You, Freddy.”
Her pulse raced as she gazed into the flame-bright depths of his eyes. The heat pouring from him liquefied the brittle shell that had surrounded her for so long, she’d almost forgotten what it was like to be drenched in desire, to feel the surge of that warm river swelling against the moist confinement of its banks, threatening to overflow.
“And now I’ll ask you again,” he murmured. “Is your apology the only reason you came here tonight?”
12
“NO,” FREDDY SAID. Ry’s question opened a new freshet of passion within her. “No. I wanted to see you. Be with you.”
“Ready to risk a little?”
“Maybe.”
His gaze smoldered. “We don’t have any excuses this time. There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need doctoring because I’m saddle-sore or full of cactus. You’re dealing with a completely healthy male animal, no handicaps to slow me down.”
Heart pounding, she deliberately moistened her lips. “Then if you don’t need doctoring...what do you need, cowboy?”
His reply was husky. “I thought you’d never ask.”
If he hadn’t held her steady, she might have crumpled like a rag doll when his demanding lips found hers. But she needed his mouth against hers, needed it with a ferocity that made her wind both arms around his neck and hang on, moaning at the sweet invasion of his tongue. The heat of the room seemed fitting, matching the heat inside her, calling forth moisture that slicked her skin, readied it for love.
He snapped open the clip holding her hair and dropped it to the table beside them. Then, as he kissed her into oblivion, he combed her hair with his fingers, starting at her scalp and stroking downward. It was one of the most sensuous feelings she’d ever known, being kissed while he caressed her hair.
Slowly he released her and guided her back to the chair, where he got to one knee and pulled off one of her boots. Then, holding her gaze, he tugged off the other. Her breathing grew shallow.
“We’ll have to be inventive,” he said. “I’m not...prepared for this wonderful gift you’ve given me.”
“Oh!” And she, a grown woman, wasn’t, either. Embarrassment crept up her cheeks. “Then maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Yes, we should. Within boundaries.”
“Ry, I think I should go.”
“No you don’t.” Taking her by the elbows, he brought her upright and pulled her close. “Only a man with no imagination would let you go out that door tonight.”
“But—”
“I’m not that man.” Cradling her bottom in both hands, he picked her up. Despite her misgivings, she wrapped her legs around him, tightening the contact. His manhood, held captive in snug denim, swelled in response.
“Ry, this is crazy. We should—”
“Quiet, madam foreman.” He sat on the edge of the bed, holding her firmly in his lap, keeping her pressed tight against him. He kissed the corners of her mouth, her chin, the base of her throat, detonating land mines of sensation everywhere he touched. “From the first day, when I rode behind you and watched your tempting backside posting up and down in the saddle, I’ve dreamed of touching you like this, and I’m not waiting. I know what I’m doing.”
She couldn’t argue that one as he popped open the first snap of her shirt and eased her back just enough to flick his tongue against the widening vee he’d created. With a sigh, she bared her throat in surrender.
“And then you massaged ointment on my thighs,” he murmured as snaps gave way to his questing fingers. “Do you have any idea the image you created, bending over my lap like that?”
“I didn’t want you...to be in pain.” She was having a hard time thinking as he reached for the front clas
p of her bra and her breasts began to ache in anticipation.
“There are many kinds of pain, ma chérie.”
“Some can be...sweet.”
“If you know that someone will soon relieve it.” He lowered his head and took her nipple between his teeth, biting gently. She moaned.
He cradled her breast and licked the heated surface. “You’re so cool-looking on the outside, but on the inside—” he nibbled at the turgid peak once more “—you’re so hot, you could burn a man.”
Desire roughened her voice. “Are you afraid?”
“No.” He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “I love the fire.” He unhooked her belt and pulled it through the loops. “I love to build it and I love to see it burn.”
Through eyes heavy-lidded with passion, she met the challenge in his gaze. Astraddle him like this, she was already open to him, completely vulnerable to his plans, save for some insignificant layers of material. He unfastened her jeans and pulled the zipper down. They were old jeans, soft and pliable from long wear. They easily accommodated the hand that Ry slipped inside the opening. Unerringly, he found her sensitive spot with the heel of his hand and pressed against the damp cotton of her underwear.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, holding back a small cry.
“Oh, no,” he said. “We’ll have none of that. Not in this secluded little cottage. Not when the guests are all inside with their air conditioners running.” He rotated the heel of his hand against her with lazy precision that wound the spring ever tighter. “I want it all, Freddy. Lose it for me. Let me see the tigress in heat.”
She closed her eyes and whimpered.
“That’s better.” A breath later, he’d pushed aside the cotton barrier and slipped his fingers deep inside her. “Now let’s turn up the flame.”
She moaned as he initiated an insistent rhythm.
“Yes.” His breathing quickened. “More, Freddy.” He rubbed her tight knot of desire with his thumb. “Give me more.”
She didn’t recognize the small cries of need he wrung from her. It was as if she had no choice but to moan and sigh as his clever fingers probed pressure points she’d never guessed existed. The flames licked around her, through her. She gripped his shoulders as the only anchor in a whirling maelstrom where she wondered if pleasure had the power to make her fly apart into a million pieces. She sensed the moment coming, almost heard it like the rumble of a distant waterfall, and then she was pitched headlong past all restraint, flung gasping into the convulsing world of release.
The Trailblazer Page 15
