by Carol Devine
Or not.
Mariah downed the rest of her water, flooding and cooling her senses, shoring her defenses in case she returned to her apartment alone. In a few minutes, her head might be hanging from rejection rather than bursting with the raw, adolescent yearning she felt now.
He might look at her with pity in his eyes. He might think how lucky he was to have gotten over her, so he could savor the moment when, months later, she admitted she'd been an asshat to him. She needed to spell out how she felt, make herself clear, confess how she wanted to live here with him, live anywhere with him, prove that she did love him, no matter how difficult it was to get past her embarrassing behavior. Her work meant nothing, her career meant nothing, if she couldn't have him.
I need some motherly advice.
No. Actually, I need motherly intervention.
"Well?" he asked. He shook out his napkin and laid it on his lap, narrowing his blue eyes at her.
Jaw unshaven, he was the epitome of Marlboro Man on steroids. Her impulse was to do a harem dance around the room, gyrating hips and undulating pelvis, letting her actions speak for her. He once stated quite openly he'd let her inability to commit slide, unless and until she was ready.
She'd weave her arms, come hither, my man. She'd make sure he knew she was a sure thing in case he was feeling unsure himself. She'd wink and smile and make him laugh. She'd be laughing, too. What happened after that would be them coming together again.
Magical.
But magic extracted a price. She wondered how she'd bring off her fantastical hopes, wearing his underwear of all things. Planning was required. This was too important to simply dive in head first.
First, she had to say the words, had to tell him he was loved, loved for who he was and how special he made her feel. Shaking her booty in his face might be bewitching but what she needed was something beyond sex, something of substance that she could put both heart and soul into.
A grand gesture.
But here? Now? She felt like she was grasping at straws, casting around for wild ideas. There were so many things that pushed and pulled at her under the surface. Ugly things. But wonderful things, too. She was pretty damned entertaining when she wanted to be. For Shane, she was even willing to cook meals on a regular basis. Now that was dedication. Maybe she could start with that. Gourmet meal, quickest way to a man's heart, Shane's especially.
Pop psychology was right. Love was everything. It wasn't about the FBI anymore. She didn't want to go back in time, didn't care about reviving her old life. She was actually ready to confess the secrets of her hidden, inner life. She just prayed that when she did confess, she refrained from blubbering like an infant.
He sat inches from her chair, her knee close to his thigh. His warmth was solid, real. She could smell his sagey scent. Magnificent, he called her. He was, too. She could barely get past the lump in her throat.
"Well?" he repeated.
"Pardon?" she asked, the thread of the conversation wiped clean from her mind.
"Is your egg okay?"
"Oh. Um, well, I haven't tried it yet."
He pushed the salt and pepper shakers at her. She salted and peppered and scooped egg into her mouth.
"Delicious," she said, around the mouthful.
"Good." He ate with gusto like he usually did, finishing before she chomped down her second piece of toast. He picked up his plate, scraped it and placed it in the dishwasher.
"Do you have plans for the day?" he asked.
An ordinary question required an ordinary answer. She could do this, regain some dignity, confidence. Now was not the time to make grand gestures. "First order of business is to brush my teeth and second, get dressed in my own clothes."
"I think you left a toothbrush in the bathroom."
"I'll brush them now then." She evened her breathing, scraped her plate and put it in the dishwasher.
"I'll drive you home as soon as you're ready. Or if you're not comfortable riding in the pickup with my underwear on, I'll run over to your place and bring something back for you to change into."
"No, I don't want you to go to that much trouble. But if you could drop me at my SUV at the Tavern, I'd be grateful. Let me get my shoes and I'll meet you down here in a couple of minutes."
"I've got an old duster you can wear. It's chilly this morning."
He went to the hall closet and came back, carrying the duster. He held it open for her. She swiveled to stick her arm in one sleeve, then angled her other arm, searching for the other sleeve. He readjusted his hold, and she found it. He settled the duster on her shoulders and smoothed the fit.
Her face was on fire, not to mention her unmentionable places, too. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. I'll get the truck warmed up."
He grabbed his keys, wallet and phone. She rushed to the stairs, then hesitated at the bottom, rubbing the banister with sweaty palms. "Shane?"
He appeared at the doorway, jean jacket on. "Yeah?"
"There's something I need to do. Have another cup of coffee. Give me like five minutes."
"Do you need help with something?"
"Just wait for me in the kitchen. I promise I'll be right back."
"What is it? You're up to something, I can tell."
She blew out an exasperated breath. "Okay, you caught me. It's gross, but I need to get the clothes I threw away. It may take a few minutes because I should wring them out."
"Wring them out? Like wash them?"
"Rinse. Like five minutes worth."
"Tell you what. I'll buy you some new ones."
"They're my favorites. Give me five minutes, okay? It's all I ask."
"I do have a washer and dryer. You can pick them up tomorrow."
"They're delicate. Five minutes, I promise. Just this once. Please?"
He waved her off. "Fine. Go."
"Wait down here."
Her bare feet pounded up the stairs. Shane entered the kitchen, poured himself a half a cup of coffee and paced. His first cup of coffee in the morning usually propelled him out the door to ensure all was well at the stables. Which meant he had to get going.
The doorbell rang.
He strode to the door, then thought better of peering through the peephole. Barely past dawn outside. It was some jerk out on a prank. He checked the stairs to see if Mariah was in sight but she must be in the bathroom still.
The doorbell rang again.
This time he rushed the door and opened it immediately, hoping to catch the prankster in the act. But Mariah was standing there. Shivering, she swept past him and closed the door.
"What took you so long?" she asked irritably, teeth chattering, rubbing her arms.
"What were you doing outside?"
"Freezing my balls off, that's what."
"Balls?"
"It's a figure of speech that happens to describe how frickin' cold I am. Why didn't you open the door the first time I rang the bell?"
"I didn't realize it was you. What the heck are you doing?"
She bit her lip, searching his face. "You haven't figured it out yet?"
Tilting his head thoughtfully, he folded his arms across his chest. "I have an inkling. But you better keep going. Play it out."
"Okay." She inhaled. "Note the actions I took. I was outside, came to the door, rang the bell and now I'm inside your house."
"Thanks to me opening the door."
"Yes, you do have a role to play in this little drama." Mariah paused to see if he was receptive to all her staged weirdness. She felt like a dork. "Remember you said I couldn't come back to your house unless I... unless I..."
"Yes, I remember. It sticks in my mind as an important statement."
"Yes, it was. But I didn't want to admit it at the time."
"But now you do?"
"Now I do. It's hard, though. It's not something I've said much in my life. Two, three people at most. I'm rusty."
"Uh-huh." At least he hadn't told her to shut the hell up. "Should I tell y
ou what you said last night? Make it easier?"
"No. It's important I do this the hard way. I was drunk last night. It doesn't count."
"Get to it, Doc. I drank too much caffeine and I'm antsy."
"I want to... live here again."
His skepticism made his eyes take on a shadowed blue hue. "I thought the FBI gave you your job back."
"Who said I was going back to that place? The last two years there were absolute hell. I lost total respect for my superiors, most of whom hung me out to dry, and friends disappeared the moment the scandal broke."
"Oh."
Feeling like she'd gotten completely off-track, Mariah wrung her hands. "I can barely talk right. I brushed my teeth but my mouth feels like cotton. I'm wearing your underwear, for chrissakes. I should be wearing something pretty, fix my hair and at least have lip gloss on."
"Strawberry flavored lip gloss?"
"No, that's a marketing ploy to get little girls to wear makeup so drug stores will have customers for life. What I'm trying to say is that what I feel is special, it's rare. I want you to understand that I understand how rare."
Tiny muscles ticced along his jaw. "Tell me this, Mariah. Do you remember anything from last night?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Anything?"
She toed the floor, scalp prickling, embarrassed, dying inside, stupid pride on the line. "I've heard people talk about blacking out but didn't really believe it was true. I thought it was just an excuse. I think I may have said love or something. But I don't remember for sure."
"Let's go back. I feel you skipped over something real important."
"I threw it out there like I don't mean it. But I mean it, with everything I have in me." Tears welled in her eyes. "I love you, Shane. I want to live with you and it was the greatest mistake of my life to make you think otherwise."
He remained where he was, preternaturally calm, like what she'd said wasn't enough. Trembles of dread snaked through her.
"Here's the problem, Doc. I ended up picking a fight with you and it turned into a doozy. I cut off my nose to spite my face because I was down in the dumps, out of my mind, depressed to the gills for months on end. You put me through hell."
Guilty as charged.
She put her hands together and tucked them under her chin. "I'm terribly sorry. Is there some way I can make it up to you?" When he didn't reply, she placed her hands on his chest, entreaty in her eyes.
"You have a bad habit of offering makeup sex, as if that's going to make everything all right."
"It's a start."
"Only a start."
She stepped back, indicating agreement. "You're saying I'm going to be making this up to you for a long time."
"No, you pretty much can get it done today, if you want. I'd like it to last as long as possible, though."
Relieved but also worried by this new wrinkle, Mariah put on a show of bravado. She knuckled her hips, arms akimbo. "If you have the stamina, I'm up for anything."
"Anything?"
"Well, not whips or chains. And no handcuffs. For some reason, it's assumed that law enforcement officers like to get kinky with handcuffs. But me, personally? It's never been a turn-on."
"We're going to your place to pick out some clothes. It's important you wear the right ones."
"This is sounding worse and worse."
"I think it's only fair to put you through something likely to be uncomfortable."
"You should have warned me how difficult you were going to be. I might have negotiated better."
"In the truck, Mariah."
She grabbed her purse and led the way to the garage. He opened the passenger door for her but his remote expression told her he wasn't doing her any more favors.
She plopped down and fiddled with her seatbelt. Shane started the truck and drove to her apartment. He parked at the curb in front and kept the engine running.
"Hurry up," he said. "We need to keep moving."
"What do I need?"
"Jeans, long-sleeved shirt, light jacket or down vest. Bring a hat if you have one. And boots."
"Fishing or hiking?"
"Cowboy."
"I don't have cowboy boots."
"You live in Grizzly Springs, Colorado. Everybody has cowboy boots."
"I don't need them. I don't ride."
"Today you do. You're coming to work with me."
A good five seconds ticked by before her vocal cords kicked in. "No, Shane. Absolutely not. Not horses. Please, please, don't make me ride."
"A short lesson. I could tell your first time was the day I rescued you from hypothermia. You were a mite nervous."
"Why would I be nervous? You had the entire situation under control."
"You noticed?"
"It was the least I could do. You were extremely heroic that day." She rubbed his shoulder, then kissed his cheek. Even though his two-day beard was rough, her lips drifted along his jaw, nipping softly.
"You're trying to distract me again."
She nuzzled closer. When he didn't react, she spoke against his skin, her breath warm and her lips giving. "It doesn't appear to be working. You're still hell bent on revenge. Was loving you with my body rather than words such a terrible thing?"
"Feed me all the psycho-babble you want, Mariah, but get this. You're changing clothes and we're buying cowboy boots. Then you and I are going on a trail ride to a nice cabin I have on my property. We'll eat a couple of sandwiches and if you work really hard to convince me, I'll strip your clothes off and we will do something as special as making love on a bunk bed. But then we get back on the horses again and make our way home. Do you think you can keep your mouth shut long enough to do that?"
She tilted her head, weighing options. "Most of it. Sure I can."
"Good." He reached across the truck and pushed open her door. "Get your sweet ass moving. We're burning daylight and those horses of mine can't wait."
* * * * *
It took a few tries on the trail before Mariah fully appreciated Shane's approach to teaching her how to ride. She expected him to put her on a fast horse and force her to learn at top speed. Instead, he started her off like he would any beginner, choosing one of his most dependable horses as her first mount and making her follow him and his horse at a walk until she was the one demanding he speed things along.
She had to admit, loving someone who could throw her off her game as often as Shane did was disconcerting. She used to believe her training and experience with people allowed her to be prepared for anything. Looking back on her relationship with him, however, she recognized she had underestimated his emotional intelligence from the start.
To dismiss him as merely charming and fun to be with had been a big mistake on her part. Psychologically speaking, he understood her a lot better than she'd ever given him credit for. From his point of view, there truly was a Shane Land where life wasn't quite as rigidly black and white as she liked to think.
Since they had reached a point where they had parted ways before, she didn't know how long their relationship would last. In the future, she might not have a choice about moving if McBride Investigations kept growing at the 25 percent clip it was now.
But at least she was able to be honest with him; certainly more honest than with anyone else she'd ever lived with. She liked to think making a conscious decision to commit herself meant she was learning to trust the future. She needed to get past the blame game foisted on her by her former employer and the stupid behavior of her father.
She and Shane started a routine of riding together every weekend, a commitment she took seriously enough to make it a permanent entry on her schedule. In the first two weeks after she moved back in, she insisted on having Shane's parents over for dinner a few times, feeling like she had plenty of explaining to do about why she put their son through such trials and tribulations.
But they were gracious people, cutting off her attempts to make up for past mistakes. Maybe it was because their son exuded
such high spirits, clearly happy to be with her again, back to being his usual jovial self. Later, she overheard Susie and Jack Youngblood confide she was the best thing that ever happened to Shane.
It produced a sense of gratitude inside Mariah, a gratitude she often dismissed in years past because, prior to the scandal, she didn't care what other people thought of her. Either Shane's previous taste in girlfriends had been rather poor, making her look good in comparison, or she was good for their son, which felt rather humbling to hear, yet flattering, too.
As far as Bird went, she wasn't interested in asking his opinion, much less hearing it, but she did notice after she moved back in, he seemed to stop following her around as often, no longer making surprise appearances at odd hours when she least expected.
She still saw him around town. The community service he had to perform because of his frequent run-ins with the law forced him outside earlier than usual during the day, sometimes wearing the neon orange jumpsuit donned by trash pickers along the highway. But more often he wore the less obvious jail-issued navy blue scrubs given to inmates who kept the town square free of litter and emptied public trash cans.
He even got a job, albeit a very temporary one, helping to pack up the contents of the public library, which had been awarded enough money from the state of Colorado's Capital Improvement Fund to pay for some much needed renovations.
Mariah convinced Shane to join her in volunteering to serve on the civic commission overseeing said renovations. By mutual agreement, she was the one who did most of the work for the project, coordinating between the town leaders and the state historical society to ensure the old jail retained its original frontier character on the outside while the inside had modern recessed lighting, along with a dedicated satellite connection and cabling for reliable internet access, and the necessary number of computers to allow citizens large and small to take advantage of the high speed lines.
It might be considered a tedious volunteer job to most people, but to Mariah, it was a revelation. She was enthused by the possibility of restoring a piece of her past that had made such a positive difference in her life. If it hadn't been for Violet Penrose and her dedication as town librarian, Mariah was certain she never would have developed a curiosity about the world outside of sleepy old Grizzly Springs. Not that it was the worst place for a person to grow up but small towns did have their drawbacks and to a young girl given to dreaming big dreams, having a space where possibility and imagination could thrive had been transformational for her.
