"We should go," he said, his voice vibrating as though stunned by the intensity of the kiss, chaste as it had been.
She nodded and followed him to the door. As he turned the knob, she caught his attention.
"Colt?"
He turned back around. "Hmm?"
"Thank you."
Colt's being filled with wonder. Not one female in all his thirty-two years had ever seemed more grateful for his touch.
"I should be thanking you," he said. "For the baby…"
She smiled, and his heart clenched in a cross between pain and joy, an emotion so foreign he couldn't quite fathom it. And then, as though her smile had bewitched him, Colt lifted his thumb to her mouth, to touch it, to feel the magic.
Soft, he thought, as he began moving his thumb, stroking gently, the way a man without sight would explore. "So sweet," he found himself saying, recalling the taste of a kiss only moments ago he had struggled to contain.
Her lips parted, and Colt battled his next breath. Air, hot and heavy, escaped his lungs and brushed her cheek, stirring a strand of auburn hair that fell across the flower he had given her. Wildflowers. He hadn't planned to pick them, but when he strode across the ranch this morning and saw them swaying in the sunshine, he acted on impulse. Now the memory of each dewy petal aroused him, just like moisture between Melanie's parted lips.
Unable to control the heat pooling low in his body, he pushed the side of his thumb into her mouth, against her teeth. His caress no longer gentle, he lost himself in her spell, in the hard white teeth that nipped him curiously. Almost mischievously.
She gazed up at him through blue eyes sparked with passion, and he realized her tongue was moving over his thumb.
Damn it, he thought, watching her suckle his flesh. This wasn't supposed to happen.
He jerked his hand away, intending to cease their contact, but grabbed her wrists instead and aggressively pushed her against the wall beside the door.
He felt as though two animals had emerged. The one, dangerously male, battled hunger while the other, the weaker one, submitted herself as prey, encouraging him to quell his desire.
Colt lifted her hands in the air and pressed her arms to the wall. As he pinned her in place, he decided which gender was the weaker sex. Though sweet and soft and innocent, she managed to render him helpless to her charm.
"Kiss me," he rasped. "I kissed you, now it's your turn to kiss me."
"Come closer," she beckoned, freeing herself from his grasp. He did as she bade and lowered his head. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed his aroused sex with the soft sway of her hips. He bent his knees, caught her hips, and pulled her even closer so he could nestle between her thighs, cradle himself in her femininity.
God help me, he thought as her mouth covered his.
First she nibbled his bottom lip in a playful bite, then bathed it with her tongue. He sipped her tongue as it darted out, before his determined thrust plundered her mouth and pillaged like a greedy marauder.
This kiss was reckless, as turbulent as the wrath of Mother Earth. Hunger whirled like a tornado of pent-up passion, drawing them into its swirling circle. Tongues probed and mated in a rhythm so seductive it went beyond his conception of kiss. They were making love—with their mouths. Each thrust delved deeply, stoking embers into wet, hot flames.
Colt fell deeper into her mouth, into her warmth, into the carnal pleasure she provided. The delicious sighs and moans issuing from her throat were too much to bear. On a groan, he went on a quest—of her body. First, he explored her rib cage where he examined every feminine bone. So tightly was her body pressed to his that he felt as though she had actually been created from his rib, her tiny frame formed from his.
As he continued his exploration, the kiss gentled and they came up for air. She closed her eyes and he watched her. Watched her lips curl into a satisfied smile, watched the aroused flush on her cheeks deepen as he pleasured her with his touch, teased her through her clothes. And when she purred and her nipples pebbled beneath his thumbs, it took every ounce of control he possessed to keep from tearing off her blouse and lowering his head.
Take her home, he told himself. Carry her to bed. Sate your desire, spill your seed. Make her pregnant.
If he did, what would happen afterward? Would she want to be part of his life? Would she confuse sex with love? Would the baby become theirs instead of his? Or would she walk away and leave him feeling empty? Would he crave her on long, cold nights, only to wake up alone? Hell, he was human after all, and it was possible he'd miss her companionship. He liked Melanie. A lot. Maybe too much.
When his caressing ceased, Melanie opened her eyes and they stared at each other. He knew she saw the question in his gaze, the wage of his mental war.
"Colt—"
He stilled her words with the tap of his finger to her kiss-swollen lips. "Don't say it." Don't offer yourself to me. Don't encourage me to lose control.
"You have an appointment," he said, eyeing her beautifully tousled appearance with a painful grimace. "And it's time to go."
* * *
Mountain Mabel's looked the same: faded red booths covered with vinyl tablecloths, knotty-pine walls and a thin layer of sawdust sprinkled on the floor. Even Mable hadn't changed all that much. Her pink uniform still stretched across ample hips and her gray-streaked hair still resembled a helmet. Apparently the woman wasn't concerned about the ozone layer; her brand of aerosol hairspray was anything but environment-friendly. Melanie assumed Mable stored cases of the discontinued stuff in her basement.
"Colt Raintree." Mable stood, order book and pencil in hand. "How are you?"
He flashed a charming smile. "Craving some of your beef stew."
"You got it." She turned to Melanie with blatant curiosity. "And your lady friend?"
Melanie's smile twitched. Clearly Mable wondered who Colt's lady friend was. It's me—Gertrude, remember? The skinny kid with braces?
"A turkey sandwich on wheat. And an iced tea," Melanie said.
"Coming right up." Mable paused then sauntered off, sliding Colt a sideways glance as she did.
"You'd think you were having lunch with an alien," Melanie said, gazing around the diner. Several pairs of eyes were fixed on her and Colt. One frosty blue pair belonged to an attractive blonde seated just across the aisle.
Although he shrugged indifferently, Melanie noticed he avoided the blonde's piercing stare. "I haven't been seen with a woman in a while."
Melanie stole another glance at the blonde. She had fluffy, shoulder-length hair and a lean body that looked as though it had been tailor-made for the embroidered Western blouse and crisp jeans she wore. A former rodeo queen, Melanie decided.
When Mable reappeared, she placed Melanie's iced tea on the table and poured Colt a cup of coffee. She lingered for a moment, apparently hoping for an introduction. Finally, Colt obliged. "Mable, this is Melanie Richards. She lived in Mountain Bluff for a short time but moved away to go to college."
The woman responded in kind to Melanie's "hi" then asked, "So, are you visiting, dear, or have you come back to stay?"
"I plan on being around for a while."
"That's nice," Mable said, slipping Colt another one of her not-too-subtle glances, to which he flashed a disarming smile. Apparently rumors about Colt's plans to hire a surrogate had been surfacing for some time. "Good to meet you, Melanie, enjoy your stay. And feel free to stop in anytime."
"Thanks. I will."
Colt appeared unaffected by Mable's curiosity. Clearly he was used to the gossip that surrounded him and took it in stride. When the waitress left, he gazed over at Melanie. "Do you feel any different?" he asked teasingly, grin in place.
From what? she wondered. His seed or his earth-shattering kiss? No wonder Colt Raintree still managed to stir up gossip. Devilishly handsome, he could charm a snake out of its skin. The man had a rakish brand of charisma.
She felt different all right. Deeper in love. "Like, am I going to or
der pickles and ice cream for dessert?"
His grin widened. "Now that it's done, I feel like a kid on Christmas eve. Only I have to wait nine months to unwrap my present."
Suddenly awed, Melanie touched her tummy.
Colt peered over the table and watched her. "Did you know that just a few hours after conception human cells start to form? There might be life happening inside you already."
When she looked up, their gazes locked and something too intimate to describe passed between them. The admiration in his eyes and the tenderness in his smile told her how blessed he felt.
For the third time that day, Melanie fell in love all over again. A driving need to know everything about him emerged. "Colt, I was wondering about your dad. Since he wasn't in your life, how did you end up with his last name?"
"Even though my grandparents weren't too happy about it, my mom insisted on it," he said. "I guess she thought she loved Toby Raintree and wanted her son to carry his name. Maybe the guy had swept her off her feet … but love? No way. She was too young."
Inwardly Melanie disagreed. She was living proof of a teenager who had fallen in love. "Your mom's story is tragic. Caring for a man she couldn't keep, not getting to see her son grow up."
"Yeah. I talk to her sometimes, in my prayers. I figure she's with my daughter, so they're both okay."
Colt never ceased to amaze her. Moody and wild yet so sensitive—a man who didn't realize how big his heart was or how much love it was capable of.
Mable returned with lunch. Colt's hearty stew came with a basket of warm bread and pads of butter. Melanie's sandwich had a side of coleslaw. "Thanks," they both said simultaneously.
He buttered a slice a bread, then dipped it into the stew. Melanie decided to take mental inventory of his favorite foods. She intended to cook for this man, hold him at night, know him as deeply as possible.
"Colt, do you wonder about your dad? Like where he is or if he has any other kids?"
He responded between mouthfuls. "Funny you should ask, because after I sobered up, I went on this personal quest, searching for my roots, trying to fit in somewhere. I didn't find my dad, but I met some nice folks at the reservation. They taught me some things about the Cheyenne Nation, cultural beliefs that helped get me through the rough times."
"Would it be proper to talk about them?" Melanie asked, uncertain of Native American protocol.
"Some things are." He sipped his coffee, then offered an explanation. "But you know, it was the simple things that helped the most. For instance, after my daughter died, there was a part of me that felt I hadn't mourned her properly, that I owed her something more."
Melanie kept silent and waited for him to continue, knowing how important this was to him.
"When I learned some of the Cheyenne practices for mourning, I realized that I needed to respect my daughter in the tradition of the old ways. Cheyenne women used to cut their hair short when a loved one died. And the men would unbraid their hair and let it hang loose." He fingered a strand of his dark mane. "I decided then that I would always keep my hair long. I braid it now and then, but for a time I didn't. Leaving my hair loose was my Cheyenne gift to Meagan."
He was such a good, caring man, Melanie thought. The kind of man meant to be a father. "Are there any traditions for babies?"
He nodded, smiled. "There's an ear piercing ceremony. But in some cases, the ears aren't actually pierced until later. At this gathering, the person invited to pierce the baby's ears would just make the motions." He touched his own earlobe where a tiny silver hoop glistened. "It's said that if a father has his child's ears pierced without ceremony, then he has no affection for that child."
Melanie didn't need to ask Colt if he planned on having their baby's ears ceremonially pierced. She could see by his expression that he would follow that tradition.
He swallowed another bite of stew. "You know, in the old days, a well-crafted cradle was considered quite important. And since you mentioned decorating the baby's room with an antique cradle, I was thinking maybe we could search for one at some of the Indian auctions."
"That's a great idea." Thrilled at the prospect of decorating the nursery, Melanie planned to continue their conversation on the same vein, but didn't get the chance. The lean blonde with the icy blue eyes excused herself from her female companion and glided over to their table.
"Raintree," she meowed, tossing a bleached yellow wave over her shoulder. "Long time no see."
He eyed her with an aloof stare. "Susan, we're having lunch."
"Me, too. I just wanted to say hello." Susan scooted in next to him without blinking an eye. "I've missed you."
Colt's shoulders tensed. "Been busy."
Melanie's stomach fell. No doubt about it, Susan was one of Colt's former lovers. And now that she was up close and personal, Melanie decided blondie didn't have enough class to have ever been crowned rodeo queen. More than likely, Susan procured her fame as a buckle bunnie, a rodeo circuit groupie who serviced cowboys, then flashed the men's trophy buckles as if to say, "Look who I slept with."
Susan lifted her chin. "Colt and I are old friends," she said to Melanie.
"Real old," Colt interjected, an apology in his eyes. "Susan and I used to get drunk together."
The blonde laughed. "As I recall, Raintree, we had some good times."
"Really?" He looked her way. "Guess I must have been too plastered to remember them."
Melanie forced back a humiliating tear. Whether he had been drunk or not, he'd still bedded Susan, something he'd refrained from doing with her today. They had kissed and touched and nearly driven each other to the brink of madness, yet Colt had led her to the doctor's office instead of taking her home to conceive their child. Soon she would be thinking of herself as an oddity—a pregnant virgin.
Blondie bristled from Colt's last comment. "People have been talking about you, Raintree. They say you plan on having a kid with some stranger."
"I'm having a baby with a friend," he shot back, then turned to look at Melanie, his harsh tone softening. "Probably the best friend I've ever had."
Melanie gazed back at Colt and extended her hand toward Susan. She wasn't about to be intimidated by some bed-hopping bimbo, especially not after what Colt had just implied. "I'm Melanie Richards. Colt and I are new friends."
Susan shook Melanie's hand without missing a beat. "Well, then I suppose congratulations are in order," she said, icicles dripping from each word. "Pity Colt doesn't know how to have fun anymore. I'm sure you two will get along famously." She stood and fluffed her hair. "See ya round, Raintree."
Susan motioned to her companion at the table and the two strode by, each proudly displaying some indiscriminating cowboy's buckle.
"I'm sorry," Colt said to Melanie. "My past isn't pretty."
"Am I what you said?" she asked. The best friend he'd ever had?
"Yes, California girl, I do believe you are."
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
"You're spoiling that horse."
Melanie turned around so fast, Cinnamon nearly mistook her finger for a carrot.
Figures. Shorty, with that eagle-eyed look of his. "I … ah…" Dang that old man, anyway. Every time he glanced in her direction, which was often, her heart tried out for the Olympics. A hundred beats per minute. "Cinnamon looks forward to her treats."
"She'll start acting up when you're gone," he said, dusting his hands on his jeans. "Be expecting sugar cubes and carrots all the time. And I won't have time to be hand-feeding some fussy mare."
Melanie wanted to shoot him an I - plan - on - sticking - around - so - quit - complaining look but thought better of it. Shorty was the one person capable of causing trouble. It was just too early to tell Colt who she was, and if this sour old man figured it out…
"I'll ease up on the treats," she said, glancing away. She'd just have to sneak them to Cinnamon when Shorty was working the other side of the ranch.
"How come you neve
r look me in the eye?" he asked, shifting his weight. "Can't trust someone who don't look ya in the eye. Usually means they got something to hide."
Wonderful. Now he was even more suspicious. "The FBI isn't looking for me. I'm not a drug dealer, a mobster or a terrorist," she retorted, staring straight at him. "I'm just an artist from California. And I didn't know hand-feeding horses was a crime." She spun on her Cuban-heeled boots. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. I'm designing a wildlife series for a stationery line. Real untrustworthy stuff."
"Now, you hold on just a minute, girlie. I got me a thing or two to say."
Melanie kicked up a layer of dust on the barn floor. "What?" she snapped, facing him like an insolent child.
"Hey!"
Colt's harsh voice startled Melanie as much as it did Shorty. They both stood perfectly still and waited for his reprimand, their eyes widening. Somehow Colt had entered the barn without their knowledge. A little trick he must have picked up from his Cheyenne ancestors, Melanie decided.
"What the hell is going on?" he asked, his gaze darting between the guilty parties.
Melanie spoke first. "Nothing." Why couldn't she have just held her tongue? Shorty didn't deserve to be punished for her guilt. She did have something to hide. Her identity, her hope that Colt would fall in love with her.
"Nothing?" Colt parroted in apparent frustration. "Sure as hell sounded like something to me." He turned to Shorty. "Well?"
The old man removed his hat and smoothed the few gray hairs he still had left. Melanie thought he looked like scruffy boy facing the school principal, uncomfortable and fidgety, yet respectful.
"It was my doing," Shorty said. "The young lady's been bringing Cinnamon treats. I scolded her for it." He gazed at Melanie. "My apologies, ma' am."
"Apology accepted." She tugged on the points of her denim vest, thinking how childish she felt. "I'm sorry, too."
Shorty nodded and plopped his hat back on. "I'll just go about my business, then."
"Fine." Colt watched the old man saunter off. "Melanie, how about you and I go for a walk?"
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