Raven knew an offer of food when he heard one.
“Not the chocolate part,” Meredith admonished. “Chocolate is really bad for dogs.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dutifully Ryder started nibbling bits of chocolate out of Raven’s half.
The dog whined, every bit the kid watching his big brother “evening up” the shares.
Mouth full, Ryder muttered, “She said no chocolate for you. Mmm. Here. Oops. One more.”
“Don’t tease him!”
“But I’m good at it.” Laughing, he tossed the trimmed treat, and the dog snatched it out of the air. “I’m a professional, right, boy? That’s all you get.” Ryder polished off his half of the brownie in one bite.
A boy and his dog, she thought.
And without thinking, she asked, “You never knew your parents at all?”
“I think my mother died not too long after I was born. I know I was with an old lady for two or three years before I got into foster care.”
“But you said you’ve met some of your relatives when you went to rodeos and powwows in South Dakota. Cowboy days and Indian nights, you said. Didn’t you ask them?”
“Ask them what? What happened to my mother? Hell, no, I ain’t gonna ask nobody that.” He squatted on his heels beside Raven, who presented his belly for scratching. “Somebody says we’re cousins, or they’re my grandma the Indian way, I just nod and shake their hand.”
“Is that part of the Indian way?”
“It’s the cowboy way. You wanna avoid trouble, you keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut about where you came from. You don’t ask other guys where they came from, either.”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell?”
“Yeah, well…” He gave Raven a parting pat before pushing off a noisy knee to stand up. “Seems like a damn good policy on any subject that’s nobody else’s business.”
He seemed taller, more intimidating than he had a moment ago. Meredith glanced away, muttering. “You’ve told me some things.”
“That’s different.”
If she asked him what he meant, he wasn’t sure he could explain. He picked up one of the books he’d been reading and turned to a photograph he knew would offer quick distraction.
“Here’s another one of those baby boards with the beaded turtle charm. This guy could be ol’ Turtle’s brother.”
She seemed to welcome the excuse to move in close and peer over his arm. “They really are similar,” she said. “So much work was put into these cradle boards, and babies outgrow everything so fast. Look, it says the baby’s paternal aunt would probably have made the cradleboard.”
“If the baby’s dad had a sister. What if he didn’t? What if he didn’t have any family?”
“Community and family were so important to them, there must have been someone.” She smiled up at him. “The Indian way.”
“I used to rodeo with a guy from another South Dakota reservation, said he was gonna adopt me as his brother. I thought he was puttin’ me on. Like it was some Hollywood blood-brother thing, you know? He said there was a ceremony they did, and Hollywood didn’t know nothin’ about it.”
“Did you become his brother?”
“We never got around to doing the ceremony. We’re buddies, though. That’s good enough.”
They stood awkwardly, each holding a side of the big book, his forehead a fraction of an inch from resting in her hair as they pretended to be so absorbed in the words on the page that they could neither close the book or sit down with it.
“Oh, look,” she said, pointing.
Okay, she wasn’t pretending.
“They used cattail fluff in the cradleboard. I wondered about that.”
“The first disposable diaper in America,” he mused, gaining interest.
“Wouldn’t it be fun to come up with a new brand?” She stepped away, eyes bright from the light bulb he imagined above her head. “Cattail disposable diapers. Biodegradable, all natural. We’d have a cattail logo. Beadwork design on the package. Oh, I know.” She clapped her hands. “Baby turtles!”
“Not one little, two little, three little baby Indians with tiny headbands and toy bows and arrows?” he teased.
“We wouldn’t want to be politically incorrect, but cuteness would be essential for the package. Baby turtles,” she decided.
“With headbands. We gotta have headbands.”
“If you say so.” She offered a handshake. “Partners?”
“Partners,” he said, taking her right hand in his left as he set the book aside. “Where do we get cattails?”
“We grow our own. That’s where you come in.” She squeezed his hand. “You get to herd the cats.”
Their laughter made a sweet duet, background music for the subtle caressing of her hand in his.
“You miss having the baby around, don’t you?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “I was upset with my son for bringing a baby home when I thought that part of my life was over. Now I’m upset with him for taking it away from me a second time. Mixed feelings.” She smiled at him, almost apologetically. “Are there any other kind?”
“I sure have mixed feelings about you going to the rodeo. It’s nice that you want to go, but…” He sandwiched her hand in both of his, his eyes avoiding hers. “I used to be real good at it. What I do now is…” He glanced up. “Well, it’s not what you think. I’m getting too slow for the bullfighting event. I do…” Why couldn’t he say the word? “What I do is I distract the animals from the cowboys on the ground.”
“You’re a rodeo clown?”
“You said you didn’t know much about rodeo.”
“I know they have clowns. Are you funny?”
“What do you think?”
“Sometimes you are.” Her smile turned all warm. No apology, no sympathy. Nothing but affection. “Do you tell jokes?”
“I’ve been tellin’ you jokes all along. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell. So that settles it.” She clapped her free hand on the back of his, decision made. “This is one show I don’t want to miss. What’s your costume like?”
He groaned, slyly slipping his hands around her waist.
“Is it funny? Do you wear makeup?” She brushed the backs of her fingers down his cheek. “Confession time,” she said softly. “I’ve imagined your face with war paint.”
“Now imagine it with greasepaint.”
“Red and white?”
He tipped his head, acknowledging his colors. Her fingers felt soft on his face. The scent of baked sweets and freshly washed hair filled his head and made his mouth water. He was in no mood for clowning.
“It’s a shame to cover up these interesting angles and hard…”
“Hard what?”
“Do you wear…” She touched his hair.
“You’re makin’ me feel pretty funny, Meredith. So funny I’m gonna make you—” enfolding her, holding her fully against him, he whispered against her lips “—forget to laugh.”
Setting caution and courtesy aside, he kissed her hungrily.
Putting common sense and circumspection in a remote corner, she kissed him back, eagerly.
Nothing had ever tasted as good to either tongue as that first kiss. If the first was that good, the second would blow them away. Up the stairs and into someone’s bed. He knew it, and she knew it and so they made the first kiss last, holding caution and common sense at bay. They filled themselves to the brim with the succulent blended taste and sound and scent they were creating together for the first time.
The kiss lingered in all their senses beyond its doing. They read its worth in each other’s eyes. He knew it was too hot. She thought it was too soon. But it was what it was, a crazy thing between a cook and a clown, and neither of them wanted it to go away.
“Is this something you want to get into with me, Meredith?”
“Why are you asking? Can’t you tell? I mean…” He was giving her a chance to think it over, damn
him. She put her arms tight around his neck, her mouth close to his ear and whispered, “Can’t you just tell?”
His arms tightened around her, but he said nothing.
She leaned back. “I feel funny, but I’m not laughing. That should tell you something.”
“You should tell me something,” he insisted. “You should tell me what you want from me. Is it the same as what I want to give you?”
“I wish you wouldn’t ask. I wish you would just sweep me off my feet without giving me a chance to think too much.”
“Ah, you’re one of those. I’ve heard about women like you.” He smiled. “But I’ve never actually met one.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do. But in case it’s still hard for you to tell, these are not the jokes, folks. This is your house, your call. You say the word, and we’re headed into some serious territory.”
“And the word is?”
“You know what the word is, honey. You’ll have to be the one to say it.”
“It’s been so long,” she said with a sigh. She’d been swept off her feet then, too, spared the annoyance of accountability because she was young and innocent and hopping with mysterious hormones.
“That’s what I figured,” he said as their embrace slowly fell away. “And that’s why I had to ask. I want to hear the word. I want you to say it and mean it. I want us both feelin’ funny and crazy and free to laugh out loud.” He reached for her again. “Where are you going?”
“To soak my head.” She was gathering the dishes. “To stew myself in the hot juices of my imagination.”
“Does that mean I should take a cold shower?”
“Of course not.” She extended him one last chance at a brownie, but he shook it off. She shrugged. “You haven’t finished the tiling.”
Chapter 5
Her behavior had been horribly childish, but Meredith had nevertheless made her desires fairly clear, she thought. She hoped. She thought she hoped.
Seduction wasn’t her best talent. She wanted to be wooed. She certainly wasn’t going to throw herself at the man. Maybe he wasn’t as attracted to her as she was to him. Maybe all he really wanted was room and board. He wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. She liked that. There was so much about him that she liked. He was a little shy about some things—wanting her to think of him as a cowboy rather than a clown.
Maybe he was shy about sex.
Right. Say the word, he’d said. Smart clown. You asked for it, he could say later, and he’d be able to quote the verbal contract, chapter and verse.
Wrong. He wanted her to be as clear with him as he’d been with her. Crazy-laugh-out-loud clear. Free and clear. He would come for her soon.
Ha-ha! He would come for her. Wasn’t she naughty, though?
Maybe she was setting herself up for a huge disappointment, but she was going to be ready, just in case.
The dim pink glow of the seashell nightlight in the bathroom was all the light she needed for her bedtime ritual, even though she was changing it somewhat. She’d passed over the usual pajamas in favor of her only diaphanous garment, the long white nightgown that shared the back of a drawer with a couple of pairs of satin bikini panties and several bundles of lavender sachet. What the heck, she’d told herself when she’d gone back for a pair of the bikinis, might as well go all the way. She was amazed they still fit. It had been a long time since anyone had seen her underwear.
That’s what I figured.
What else had he figured? She leaned close to the bathroom mirror as she patted miracle age-defying anti-wrinkle cream around her eyes. It seemed to be working, especially in this light. She’d admitted to being older than he was, but she didn’t think she looked it. His face was pretty craggy for a forty-year-old. In a nice weather-beaten, sun-drenched way, of course. She, on the other hand, had been happily grazing in the over-the-hill pasture for almost eight years.
Happily.
The familiar patter of canine paws drew her from the mirror into the bedroom. She almost expected Lydia to wander through the doorway and hop up on her bed, but she greeted Raven by the correct name.
“Did he kick you out of his bed?” Her gown puddled around her as she knelt to exchange pets for licks. “You haven’t been drinking from the big white bowl, have you, Raven? Does he leave the lid up for you?”
“Did you leave your door open for me?”
Her gaze traveled from boots to jeans to belt buckle, bare chest, to the hat brim dipping close to the dark eyes of the man standing in her bedroom doorway.
“I haven’t gone to bed yet,” she said, her mouth suddenly gone dry.
“Good, because I just finished the tiling, and I could use a shower.” He hung his hat on a tall bedpost, sat on the fluffy duvet-covered comforter she’d folded to the foot of the bed, and pulled his boots off, tucking a sock inside each one.
“Is it okay if I put these under your bed tonight?”
“If they’re made for walking, I suppose you’re worried about them getting away from you while you’re in the shower.”
“They don’t go anywhere without me and vice versa. Same goes for the dog and the hat.” He cocked a finger toward the former, a thumb at the latter.
“Is that the cowboy way?”
“Damn straight. Now answer my question.” He stood facing her, boots in hand, looking like a man set to wade in. “I put it as delicately as I know how.”
She took his boots and slid them beneath her bed. Then she took his big, roughened hands in her small, soft ones. They would wade in together.
Was it possible after all this time, she wondered, to fall in love this quickly?
She smiled. “Once the hat and boots come off, does that mean the cowboy’s day is over?”
“And the Indian’s night begins,” he said, his voice turning husky when he tried to make it soft. “I want to spend it here with you.”
“I was hoping you would. I was afraid…”
He drew her arms around his body. “I never thought…”
“…you didn’t want…” She leaned into him.
“…you’d want…”
“Yes, I do. I want us to…”
“I want us, too.” Firmly he moved his hands up her sides, creating a ruching of nylon and bunching of breasts. “This is a real pretty gown.”
“I wore it for you.”
“I’m going to take it off you for me, but first I’m going to shower me for you.” He bent to kiss the swell of each breast before he backed away. “You leave those boots where they are, okay?”
“Okay.”
She got into bed and watched him disappear into the bathroom. He left the door cracked open, sending a shaft of light across the foot of the bed giving her a quick peek after he’d shed his jeans. God, he looked beautiful in the buff from the back.
Maybe it was an invitation. Follow the light. She’d often wondered what it would be like to make love under the shower. But not under the light. No, that would be too much exposure to suit Meredith this early in the game.
Who said game?
Not Meredith Woodward. She didn’t play games. She didn’t play peek-a-boo, I-see-you, not with her unexpected boarder. She didn’t play hide-and-seek in the dark. Come find me under the covers, but don’t look at me too closely because I’m past my prime, and women don’t care but men do. So she’d heard.
Was it foolish to trust this soon?
Okay, but how foolish? On a scale of one to ten?
The water stopped running. She held her breath, watching that crack of light until it dimmed.
This was definitely level-ten foolishness.
He’d left the nightlight on, the way he’d found it, and emerged with a white towel wrapped around his slim waist.
“You should have told me you were going to dress up.” She hoped she sounded clever.
“I didn’t want to scare you with it, but I’m up, all right,” he boasted as he planted his knee on the mattress. One cracked
; the other creaked. He chuckled. “Some of my parts are rustier than others.”
He placed what appeared to be a multitude of condoms on her nightstand. Rusty or not, the man clearly expected things to proceed quite swimmingly.
She gave a small laugh. “I’m not scared. Just a little nervous.”
“Me, too,” he whispered, hovering over her, lowering himself as though he were on the down side of a pushup. “I feel like a clown getting into bed with a princess.”
He’d just knocked the foolishness level down to five.
He kissed her lips with excruciating tenderness and told her, “I’m a big boy.”
“Oh?”
“You tell me to stop, I can stop.”
“Oh.”
“You wanna break my heart, you tell me to stop.” He touched her breasts through her nightgown as he pressed his kisses and whispered his crazy promises against the side of her neck. “I could probably back off if I had to.”
“I don’t think…that’ll be—” oh, oh, his chin between her breasts, separating them for a kiss smack dab “—necessary.”
“Just so you know.”
“I know so little, Ryder, please—” she drew a deep breath as he took her nipple, nightgown and all, into his mouth “—teach me.”
“Touch me, and I will.”
She slipped her hand between their bodies, and he sucked in his belly to ease her way to the tucked corner of the towel. He sucked in even more as she ran her fingernails lightly over his abdomen, slowly over his groin. She discovered that his desire was outstanding, while hers spun itself into a knot deep inside her.
He permitted her to caress him briefly before pulling her hand away with a deep groan. “Maybe not as big as I thought.”
“Stop thinking and start teaching.”
“With me, a little touching goes a long way. For you…”
“Is this a long way?” She teased his belly again. “I want to learn all about Mr. Long Way.”
“You’ll meet him again when you’re ready to bite his head off.”
“Oh, my.”
“Oh, your what? Your nightgown’s in the way? Pretty little thing,” he whispered—to her or her nightgown—she didn’t know, didn’t care. Up, up, over her head, finally freed and flung into the air, it fluttered like a gauzy parachute and fell to the floor on Raven’s side of the bed.
Lakota Legacy: Wolf DreamerCowboy Days and Indian NightsSeven Days Page 13
