by Tawna Fenske
“Seriously?” I catch myself starting to smile, and Sean glances at me with a wry look of his own.
“Yep. It was supposed to be this symbolic tribute to our opposite natures and foodie culture and—hell, I don’t know what we were thinking, actually.” He shrugs. “Anyway, far be it from me to judge you for carving up a tree.”
“There’s some perspective.” I lift my free hand from the ground beside me and trace a fingertip over the back of Sean’s knuckles. He’s still holding my other hand, and his fingers tighten around mine. “Where’s your tattoo?” I ask.
“Left shoulder. It’s small. I’ll show it to you sometime if you want.”
“I’d like that.” I’d love it, actually. The thought of Sean without a shirt sends sizzling little zaps of pleasure from my belly to my fingertips, and I wonder if he feels it in my hands.
We fall silent, both of us tuned to the far-off yip of coyotes and the unseasonably warm breeze caressing our skin.
“This is nice,” he says. “I can’t believe how warm it is for this time of year.”
“It’s like this a lot in the high desert. We can have two feet of snow one week and crocuses coming up the next.”
He turns to look at me again, and I wonder if I could ever get tired of losing myself in those deep green eyes. “Did you find the tree?”
I’d almost forgotten why I came here tonight. “The one I carved my initials in?” I shake my head. “Nope.”
“And the guy?”
“Not really interested in finding him. I haven’t seen him for years.”
I hesitate, not sure how much more to tell him. But he did just open up with his story, so I find myself spilling my own. “I guess all this wedding planning has me thinking about relationships. About my parents and grandparents and why some people live happily ever after and others just fizzle out. Like, what makes the difference?”
He looks at me oddly for a second. “Work.”
There’s such certainty in his voice that it takes me by surprise. “Not fate or true love or serendipity or whatever?”
He shakes his head, looking down at our intertwined fingers on his lap. He lifts his free hand and skims a fingertip over my knuckles. It’s the gentlest touch, but something about it sends pulses of fire up my arm.
“I don’t think so,” he says slowly. “The only difference between couples who make it and the ones who don’t is a decision to dig in your heels and fight for it.”
“Huh.” It’s an interesting theory. Is that how it was for my grandparents? Or my parents, for that matter.
“But what the hell do I know?” He laughs, but it’s a stiff sort of laughter that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m the unmarried offspring of a guy who should have bought a discount punch-card for divorces. I’ve never even kept a plant alive, let alone a marriage.” He gives me a sweetly self-conscious smile. “I have been thinking about a cat, though.”
“A cat?” I blink at him. “Really?”
“Why is that hard to believe?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that we’re neutering a whole a bunch of feral cats tomorrow.”
Sean frowns. “Please tell me this isn’t part of the Testicle Festival.”
I laugh, conscious of how often our conversations seem to turn to testicles. Is that my doing?
“It’s a clinic we do twice a year at the ranch,” I explain. “Jade spays and neuters barn cats and strays and stuff.”
“What, with farm tools or something?”
That makes me snort. “Jade’s a licensed vet. She mostly just treats our animals, but she does these clinics a few times a year to help keep stray cat colonies down.”
“Are any of them up for adoption?”
There’s something adorably childlike in his expression, and I focus on that so I’m not overwhelmed by the parts of him that are most definitely not childlike. Broad shoulders, scruffy jawline, a big hand still wrapped around mine.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I mean, some of the feral ones are pretty wild, but we also get a lot of housecats that someone turned loose in the country.”
Sean’s brow furrows. “Who’d do something like that?”
“Assholes,” I mutter. “Or people who fool themselves into thinking their fluffy little pet who’s been totally dependent on them for food and shelter can magically fend for himself in the wilderness.”
“God, I hate that.” Sean shakes his head. “Do you need volunteers or anything? For the clinic?”
“We can always use an extra set of hands.” I do my best not to stare at Sean’s hands. “And that will give you first dibs on adoptable cats.”
“Deal.” Sean grins. “What time should I be there?”
“The clinic opens at eight, but we start getting cats as early as six.”
“Six,” he repeats, and I’m reminded that Sean’s still pretty new to ranch life. That he didn’t grow up milking cows at the butt-crack of dawn. I’m not sure he realizes he’s volunteering for a day of scrot-snipping just for a free cat, but I decide not to point that out.
“You don’t have to come that early,” I assure him. “You can do a half-day or just—”
“No, I’ll be there,” he says. “I can bring breakfast for the volunteers.”
“That would be amazing.” I smile up at him, wondering if he knows how much I want him to kiss me again.
Either he knows or he’s a damn good guesser, because he lowers his mouth to mine and skims a light kiss over my lips. It’s soft like the last one, but different somehow. There’s an undefined tenderness that wasn’t there before. I lean back against the tree, the bark rough against my spine as my fingers take on a life of their own and reach up to graze the scruff on Sean’s cheek.
He deepens the kiss, threading his fingers through my hair. Our hands are still twined together, but he lifts his free one to my hip. Everything in my body begs him to move up, to slide just a few inches to skim the edge of my breast.
When he does, I gasp out loud. “God,” I groan, urging him on with a tilt of my hips.
He obliges, his large palm curving over my not-so-large breast, creating an enormously-large burst of pleasure in the center of my chest. I press into him, hungry for his touch. He tastes like red wine and truffle salt and desire, and I could seriously devour this man.
“God, Amber,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down the line of my throat. “What is it about you?”
It seems like a rhetorical question, but I wonder what the answer is. Does he feel the same connection I do?
His fingers catch the zipper on my fleece jacket, and never in my life have I been so grateful to be wearing a v-neck T-shirt. He tugs down the zipper as his kisses inch lower, his breath warm between my breasts.
He eases me back, and I pull him with me, letting my spine settle against the down-filled warmth of his jacket. His hand inches beneath my T-shirt, and even though I’m expecting it, I still moan when his fingers graze my breast.
“You’re missing something here,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss between my breasts. “Again.”
“Right,” I murmur, gasping as his mouth claims more territory to the left. “All my bras are in the wash. I—uh—wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here.”
“Lucky me.”
Lucky me, I think as his thumb skims my bare nipple, and I arch up to meet the pleasure.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, lowering his head to draw the stiff peak into his mouth. I groan and clutch the back of his head, willing him to keep going. His tongue makes a slow circuit around my nipple, driving me mad. Every ion in my body shrieks “we want him!” and I bite my lip to keep from screaming it out loud.
This is crazy. How did I get from “let’s keep it professional” to clenching his hair in my fist as his mouth devours my bare breasts under the stars? I don’t know, but I do know I don’t want him to stop. I breathe in the scent of sage and pond water and something I think might be Sean’s aftershave, positive I’ve never wanted anything thi
s badly in my life.
Sean draws back and plants a soft kiss at the top of my breast. It’s softer than the last, and there’s something in it that feels like the period at the end of a sentence. When his eyes meet mine, there’s something in them I can’t read.
“We should stop,” he whispers.
“We should?”
He nods, and I wonder what the hell I did to spin the car a hundred-and-eighty degrees. “I don’t want to,” he says. “But this isn’t the place for it.”
I swallow hard, wondering if he means geographic location or something else. His cabin can’t be more than half a mile from here, so I don’t think we’re talking logistics.
I feel him pulling away, even though he hasn’t moved a muscle. “We’re both in a weird place right now,” I agree, then want to kick myself for uttering such a stupidly benign phrase. I sound like a contestant on The Bachelor. Did I do something to scare him off?
When Sean smiles, there’s something a little sad in his expression. “I’ve wanted this forever,” he admits. “So I think we can wait until the right time and place and—”
“Right, yes, for sure.” I sit up and tug down the hem of my shirt, not sure how to read him right now. Is this really about time and place, or did he change his mind about me?
His gaze holds mine for a few heartbeats, and I have my answer. He wants me. He wants me as much as I want him. Longing, sharp and hot, floods my chest so I can hardly breathe. He closes the space between us and kisses me again. Slowly, softly, with aching tenderness.
Then he draws back and gets to his feet, pulling me with him. His hand is still wrapped around mine, and a quick glance at the front of his jeans confirms he’s as turned on as I am.
“Okay, I’m stopping for real.” He gives me a sheepish smile. “Before I can’t.”
“Right.” I nod toward the bank of trees where I parked my truck. “I’m just over there, so I’ll be going now.”
“Let me walk you to it.”
I shake my head, knowing exactly how that would go. I’m no stranger to fumbling sex on the bench seat of my work truck with boys I have no business fooling around with.
But Sean’s no boy, and I think he might be right about something. This isn’t the time or place. My brain is still clouded with lust, but there’s one thing I’m sure of—I want things to be different with Sean.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “It’s fifty feet, and I have a gun in my pocket.”
“Jesus.” He shakes his head slowly, looking at me like he’s never seen me before. “Why is that sexy?”
I laugh and pull back, needing to put some distance between us before I climb him like a jungle gym. “Because you’re a city boy,” I tell him. “And anything different is exciting and exotic.”
And then the shine wears off. I’ve seen it before, which is why I take another step back. “Good night, Sean.”
“Good night, Amber.”
I turn and walk away, everything in my body screaming at me not to.
Everything except my heart, which tells me to get the hell in the truck and drive away.
Chapter 8
SEAN
I expect to slip out the next morning without an interrogation from my mother, but no such luck.
“Where on earth are you going at this hour?” She glides from her bedroom into the living area wearing a silk robe that looks like something out of a film from the forties. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and I wonder if she was up late.
“Sorry to wake you,” I mumble, not really answering the question as I shove food into the cooler I’m packing to take to the reindeer ranch.
My mother steps closer and grabs one of my foil-wrapped breakfast burritos. Without unwrapping it, she lifts it to her face and inhales. “Mmmm. You’re still making my famous chicken sausage with garlic and sage.”
I nod and finish packing a big bunch of grapes into a tote. “I’ve made a few modifications to the recipe. You can have that one if you want it.”
She eyes me for a moment, then sets the burrito down. “I thought I’d see if Breann is free today to give me a tour of this place. I’d like to see where my grandparents’ house used to be.”
Bile rises sour in my throat, but I swallow it back to reply. “Bree has meetings all day. If you wait for me, I can give you a tour when I get back. We’ll have plenty of time.”
I have no idea if that’s true, but I know I want to minimize the time my mother spends around my siblings. Or anyone, for that matter.
“I’ve been wanting to reorganize your spice cabinet,” she says. “I could do that.”
“Perfect.” I grit my teeth, not wanting my spices reorganized, but figuring it’s a small price to pay to keep my mother busy. “I’ll make us a late lunch and can give you a tour afterward.”
“That sounds lovely.” She smiles, and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen my mother without makeup since I was a boy. She’s pretty, maybe prettier than I remember. Fine lines have set around her eyes, and I wonder if the smoothness of her forehead is the result of good genes or a good surgeon.
I heft the cooler off the counter and wonder what it would feel like to hug her right now. We’re so unaccustomed to displays of affection that she’d probably have a stroke. “Enjoy your morning,” I tell her. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”
I hope I won’t regret that one. She smiles and adjusts the sash on her robe. “You have a good day.”
My drive to the ranch is a short one, and my head is filled with thoughts of Amber. I know I should be more concerned about my mother, but I can’t get Amber out of my head. Part of me regrets stopping the other night. Making love to her under the stars would have been a fantasy come true.
But part of me is glad we just talked. Well, talked and groped, but mostly talked. It’s rare for me to open up to anyone like I did with her, and I can’t put my finger on why it happened.
I’m still thinking about it as I step out of my truck and follow the red and white signs that say, “snip clinic.” They lead to a small, modern-looking outbuilding on the other side of the barn. A sign on the door says, “come in,” so I push through it and step into an impressively modern-looking vet clinic. The walls are painted white and lined with stainless steel shelves and banks of wire-doored kennels. There’s a strong scent of antiseptic, but it’s a clean smell that contrasts pleasantly with juniper and hay.
“Hey.” Amber smiles as she looks up from her station at the head of a massive stainless-steel table. It’s large enough to hold a reindeer, but right now it’s holding something much smaller.
“Cute cat,” I manage, trying to ignore the way Amber’s tugging its crotch like she’s hunting for bugs. What the hell is happening? “Is this where I make an appointment to get snipped?”
Jade glances up from the other side of the table and smirks. “You laugh, but I actually had a classmate try that my second year in vet school.”
“On himself or someone else?”
“Himself,” Amber says. “I remember that story. He couldn’t afford a vasectomy, so he tried a do-it-yourself job.”
“Ouch.” I’m not sure if I’m more squeamish about the story or the fact that Amber’s still pulling out the cat’s crotch fur in alarming clumps. “Did it work?”
“Nope.” Jade draws a scalpel out of some gadget that says “autoclave” on the side, and I try not to think about what she plans to do with it. “He got through the epidermis and had to drive himself to the ER.”
I shake my head, ready to change the subject. “Okay, can one of you please tell me what you’re doing to that cat? Because to me it looks like you’re just ripping fur off his crotch with your bare hands.”
“Pretty much.” Amber tosses a ball of fine fluff into a wastebasket behind her. “We’re plucking the fur from the incision site.”
“Can I buy you some razors next time?” I ask. “Please?”
“They irritate the skin,” Jade says. “And you definitely don’t want irrita
tion where you’re about to stick a scalpel.”
“I suppose not,” I agree, wondering for the millionth time what else I don’t know about life on a ranch.
Finally reaching the end of her task, Amber stands up and leaves her sister to—uh, I don’t want to consider what Jade’s about to do. I keep my focus on Amber and the delight that’s flooding her face. I’d like to pretend it’s me, but I’m guessing she’s just hungry.
“You really brought breakfast?” she says. “Oh my God, I love you.”
I know she’s kidding, and it’s not the first time a woman I barely know has professed undying affection over my culinary skills. Still, the words leave me flush with happiness. So does the sweater she’s wearing. It’s red and fitted and even though the neckline isn’t low, it offers a stunning view of the curves beneath it. Curves I had my hands on less than twelve hours ago.
I order myself to stop gawking at her and feed her instead. Prying the top off the cooler, I show her the tidy foil-wrapped bundles inside. “I wasn’t sure how many people you’d have or how the shifts would work, so I packed a couple dozen breakfast burritos you can microwave one at a time.”
“Oh my God, that smells amazing. Are they still warm?”
“They should be. Do you have time to sit?”
“For sure,” she says. “Jade could totally do a castration in her sleep.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t, since my cousin sleeps here a lot.”
Amber laughs and turns to scrub her hands at a large stainless-steel sink. Wiping them on a paper towel, she moves toward a tiny card table tucked under a window in the corner. “You doing okay, Jade?” she calls.
“Peachy keen,” she calls. “Save one of those for me.”
Amber sits down on one side of the table and takes the foil-wrapped burrito I hand her. I glance back at the unconscious tabby Jade is leaning over on the other side of the room. For the first time I notice he’s missing his right rear leg. “What’s the story with that cat?”
“Stray,” Amber says as she peels away the wrapper and dunks her burrito in the small cup of salsa I’ve just handed her. “Someone dumped him here a week ago. He’s a surprisingly good mouser considering the missing wheel.”
