"Doc give you any medication?"
"Mmm." She didn't want to make the effort to answer, but he'd probably insist. "Just ibuprofen."
"Good." He eased out from under her and she muttered a wordless protest. "I'll be right back," he told her. "Don't move."
No problem. She might never move again anyway. Resting her head on the edge of the pool, she pondered Alice. No wonder she'd been so glad to see Mac if he'd taken care of her like this all her life. Poppy closed her eyes and floated, letting herself drift between the ice-bright stars and hot, bubbling water.
"Here." He stood on the deck, holding two wine glasses and a bottle. His shorts gleamed white in the starlight as he walked through the steamy, chlorine-scented air, down the steps and into the bubbling water.
"What's that?"
"Tom's best chardonnay," Mac said with a wicked grin. "Ought to be better than a sleeping pill." He poured wine and handed it to her, then raised his glass. "To successful apologies." He took a deep swallow, then looked up and met her gaze. "Won't you drink to that? I really am sorry I yelled at you."
She hesitated, too relaxed and cosseted to say no, but remembering how awful it had felt when he'd accused her.
"Please?"
She lifted her glass to him and tasted the wine. It rolled over her tongue, rich and golden. "To successful apologies," she repeated. His gaze touched her like an angel wing, and every nerve ending in her skin went on full alert. "It's all right to worry about someone you love." If only she inspired that kind of loyalty in someone. Her head spun with the release of stress, wine, and fatigue—and Mac.
"I know I'm too protective of Alice. I've been her only family for too long, I guess."
"She's a very lucky woman to have you. But she does have Tom now."
Mac leaned forward and looked into her eyes. "And you? Is there someone who makes you lucky?"
He hadn't asked her anything that personal before. "Friends," she said after a pause. "Not family." She gazed at him over the rim of her glass. He lounged back against the side of the tub, eyes shadowed in the dim light. She lowered her gaze and sipped at her wine. The excitement that sizzled through her didn't have a lot to do with the hot water or the wine. Mac could make her feel lucky. Very lucky indeed.
He lifted her feet into his lap and ran his thumbs down the arches. Pleasure curled through nerve endings all the way to her scalp. "Special friends?"
"All my friends are special," she murmured, lost in a fog of bliss.
Mac went rigid. His hands stilled on her feet.
She opened one eye. "What?"
He resumed rubbing. "Nothing."
"Mm."
"You're going to sleep." He murmured.
"Mm-hmm." No. A coyote howled in the distance and she shivered. The lonely sound reminded her of the other night, of Mac's arms around her, pulling her against his hard, yearning body. How strange everything had seemed that night, the land, the ranch, the people. Now... "Such a pretty night," she said dreamily. "Like crystal in the moonlight, and he's out there, singing all alone."
Just like her. Poor me. Poor Poppy. All alone. But she wasn't alone now. Deliciously warm water purled around her, spreading memories of Mac's hands on her.
He shifted through the churning water to sit next to her. "Turn your back," he said, and when she did, put his hands on her shoulders, gently kneading her knotted muscles. She set down her glass and relaxed into his touch. His hands wrapped around her shoulders, warm and soothing, and skimmed down her back, expertly loosening the tightness, soothing the aches, until she couldn't tell his fingers from the touch of the water, until she could have sworn his hands were everywhere, and an aching heat settled between her legs.
He cupped her shoulders again, let his fingers drift up her neck, explored that so-sensitive place where neck and shoulder joined. Her mind floated in the bliss of his touch.
She wanted more. "Mac," she murmured, stretching against him so that the hand that had been gliding down her side settled over her breast. "Mac."
He went completely still, and it seemed as though all her nerve endings had clustered under that one hand. The water beat around her, she heard the splash of it, felt sharp mountain air and hot bubbling water, but they faded in comparison to his touch.
Impatient even through the muzziness that wrapped her mind, she scooted back against him and turned her face up to his. His fingers closed hard on her breast and she arched against him, feeling him erect, rigid and unyielding under the flimsy shield of the sodden shorts, pulsing with each thump of his heart. She moaned.
"Not tonight, dear." He echoed her words.
No fair. She'd said that before she'd melted into a puddle of yes.
"You're not in shape for anything except a massage tonight." He carried her out of the pool. She leaned against him while he picked up the oversized bath sheet he'd left ready and wrapped her against the chill of the night. When he lifted her against him, she snuggled into his heat, feeling his strength and hard muscle through the fluffy towel.
He carried her across the patio, into the house, and down the hall into a spacious bedroom. Rhett Butler, come to life. She felt like a feather wrapped in moonbeams, like a princess rescued from a dragon, like...she turned her face to his chest.
"I'd say you're relaxed," he said conversationally, setting her on her feet next to the bed.
She'd show him relaxed. But her knees sagged and she couldn't hold onto the thought.
He held her up with one hand while he pulled off her underwear and blotted her dry. He stripped the covers from the bed and tipped her into it. "On your stomach, honey," he told her.
His hands came down on her back and smoothed warm oil over her. The scent of sweet almonds filled the room and his big, hard hands skimmed over her. His touch in the hot tub had soothed. His touch in the bedroom brought complete ecstasy. Well, almost complete. Gradually she became aware that he wasn't touching her like a lover, but with the soothing stroke of a healer. She tried to squirm and tell him, but couldn't resist the gentle stroking of her battered body.
She was completely limp when he turned her over. "My God, you're nothing but one big bruise," he said, tracing the path of her seat belt from shoulder to hip. Lusciously warmed oil drizzled across her collarbone. Poppy's breath hitched. She waited with a desperately escalating heartbeat.
Mac's low chuckle wrapped around her like honey. "Not tonight, dear," he reminded her and smoothed the oil down her arms. "I'm not touching those bruises." He swept his hands up to her neck and his fingers worked in small circles down across her collarbone, moving tantalizingly toward her breasts. She wriggled under his hands, urging him toward the hard peaks of her nipples.
"Stop that," he told her. "I meant it. All you get tonight is a massage. Tonight I'm taking care of you."
Those maddening, tantalizing hands worked down her sides, massaging thighs and calves, until every nerve end quivered and every muscle turned to mush. Her mind blurred and she drifted toward something that must be better than heaven. The last thing she remembered was his voice murmuring in her ear.
"Don't get me wrong. I want you. But not until you're in shape for it."
* * *
Poppy had fallen asleep long before Mac brushed the last feather touch over her skin and resigned himself to a sleepless night. He wanted her so much his teeth ached with it, and one of these nights he'd have her wrapped around him or under him. No more excuses.
But for now, he stretched out on top of the blanket and added torture to torment by gathering her close. She shifted to put her head on his shoulder and snuggled against him. He closed his eyes and prayed for strength.
When the first hint of dawn stained the sky, he gave up. He eased himself away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, the heavy fullness of his genitals a weighty reminder of how long it had been since he'd had a woman. She stirred when he stood, but didn't wake, so he watched her while he stripped off his clothes. Big mistake. Thinking about all that luscious nakedn
ess under the covers didn't help his condition at all.
He clenched his jaw and took his early morning problem to an icy shower, even though he knew there wasn't enough ice water in the entire state to cool him this morning. He couldn't wash without touching, and as he lathered soap down his body, had a vivid awareness of the differences between his body and Poppy's. His with its smattering of hair, hers soft and smooth, except for that enticing triangle. The coarse weight of his balls. The hidden secrets of her. His body hard and tanned. Hers the velvety creaminess of woman.
Thinking of her had been a mistake. His blood pounded with need, each pulse throbbing harder, so that his penis jerked and lifted, and he leaned against the cold tile and thought helplessly of Poppy, asleep in his bed.
* * *
Poppy woke to bright sun and a hell of sore muscles. Her neck hurt. Her shoulders, her everything hurt. When she painfully cracked one eye open, she didn't recognize her surroundings. It took her sleep-dazed brain a minute to remember. Mac's room. Mac's bed. And she wore nothing but a thin film of oil.
Half an hour in a hot shower made it possible to move without wanting to scream. She averted her gaze from the bruises that striped her body and looked around for her clothes. They weren't anywhere in sight, and she hoped he hadn't left them out by the hot tub.
She started to rummage through his belongings, rude but better than tramping through the lodge clad in a sheet, and saw he'd left black sweatpants, only about a foot too long, and a black tee shirt on a chair for her. Barefoot, she hobbled out to the sun-filled kitchen, following the scent of coffee.
"Well, hey there." Chickie looked up from the dough she was kneading and gave her a smile as sunny as the day. "Here." She dusted off her hands and handed Poppy a cup of life-giving caffeine.
Poppy sank into a chair and leaned her elbows on the oilcloth-covered table. "Thanks."
"Think nothin' of it. Mac said you were pretty beat up."
It couldn't be a secret that she'd spent the night with Mac. She remembered drifting off to sleep while Mac complained about the things he wasn't going to do to her. Her nipples tingled against the softness of her borrowed shirt. Chickie didn't know that nothing had happened but sleep, yet once again Poppy would be judged on appearances. She went for a change of subject. "How's Alice?"
"Just fine. Bless your heart for askin.' I keep tellin' her you're a sweet girl."
Poppy rested her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. Alice had no reason to believe that. Neither did Chickie, but Poppy appreciated the vote of confidence.
"Tom'll be bringin' her home this afternoon," Chickie went on. "Pancakes or omelet?"
Poppy chose an omelet and watched, bemused, as Chickie tossed ingredients into a pan without missing a word.
"You're some kind of hero, you know. Tom said you saved Alice's life. That's pretty special, savin' a life twice in one day. Imagine a pretty little city girl like you knowing first aid and how to change a tire. You a nurse?"
Poppy shook her head. Her neck protested the motion and she swallowed a moan.
"You poor thing," Chickie commiserated, setting a full plate in front of Poppy. "What do you do?"
"Research. And teaching. At a university. Genetics." Did teach at a university.
"Genetics. You and Mac. He's always tryin' to decide what stallion to send his mares to. I'll swear, you'd think he'd have some other interest in life, but all he wants is those horses. Never seen the likes of it...here you go." Chickie plopped a hot biscuit on to her plate.
Poppy reached for the butter and winced.
Chickie moved it closer. "And here I am talkin' your ear off. Have you taken anything for those sore muscles?"
"No." She had to smile at the mothering. "I'll take something when I go back to my cabin. And maybe lie down with a good book for a while. Thank you."
"Sounds like a plan. Moses'll drive you to your cabin. Mac's off workin' on that house he's building, but he'd have my hide if we didn't take care of you."
Mac had certainly taken care of her last night. To distract herself from the buzz, she said, "He seems a little on the protective side. Is he always like that?"
"Oh, sure." Chickie gave a final swipe to the counter, dried her hands, and sat down across from Poppy. "He pretty much raised Alice, you know."
Of course she didn't know. She only knew the feel of his hands and the taste of his mouth. That he had a killer smile and melted her bones. That he could set a mousetrap, ride a horse, and give a world-class massage. Her skin prickled with the memory of his touch. "No, I didn't," she said, wondering if this counted as gossip. Not really caring, because she wanted to hear more about Mac.
"Their mother died when Alice was born and their father didn't do much good taking care of her. After his sister found out that good-for-nothin' man went off with whatever woman he met, leavin' those kids alone for days at a time, she moved in and took care of them. But she died after a few years, and then Mac had to do it all.
"That's awful. How old was he?"
"He's seven years older than Alice, so that put him at ten or eleven. He's the one that kept them together. And he introduced her to Tom, so he feels responsible about that too."
As if she couldn't have guessed. She finished eating, and let Chickie help her out and into a waiting Jeep. One of the wranglers sat behind the wheel. Not Moses, thank goodness. She had enough problems without his disapproval.
Tom and Alice, for one. She hoped they had patched things up last night. She’d be done with this nonsense and could have her vacation.
And Mac, for two. He had her spinning out of control. Maybe he'd only been nice to her because she'd helped Alice.
She took a couple of painkillers and stretched out on the bed, intending to read to keep her mind from exploring that.
Instead, she dozed, waking to the sounds of horses and happy voices. The morning trail ride had returned. Mac would probably come looking for her as soon as the horses had been tended. She smiled. She'd wait just a minute or two, then get up and greet him at the door. In just a minute...
The lunch bell woke her.
He hadn't come.
She swallowed her disappointment and crept out of bed. A public meeting across the lunch table didn't sound very, well, romantic. And she did want romance from him, she realized. She walked slowly up to the lodge.
Moses sat at the table in Mac's place. She moved painfully to a seat as far from him as she could get. Asking him about Mac would take more energy than she could come up with right now. He'd been so unfriendly when he thought she looked for Tom the other day. So she ate in silence, letting the talk of the morning ride wash around her and wondering where Mac had gone. She stopped in the kitchen, just to compliment Chickie on the food of course, and learned that he had taken one of the dogs into town to the vet.
The other guests had scattered after lunch, and she decided to lounge by the pool. Strenuous wasn't on her agenda for today. She chose a chaise longue in the shade and lay in a half doze as the afternoon drifted past. She didn't need Mac.
As if her thought had summoned him, Mac appeared next to her chaise. "I've been looking for you." He moved her feet over and sat on the end of the chaise. His hands were warm and big and lingered on her skin. Heat sprinted up her legs.
"Hello." Her voice clogged in her throat. The memory of his aroused body against hers in the hot tub made her blush from head to toe.
He pulled her gauzy cover-up aside and scrutinized her. "Honey, you are one mess today."
He didn't have to tell her. She'd seen the bruises in the mirror. And she could feel every one of them.
He leaned over and traced the livid smears, from right shoulder across her chest and stomach where the seat belt had caught her, down her right leg and hip where she had jounced against the door.
The gentle touch may have been meant to soothe, but the pleasure-pain of it set her ablaze. Throwing herself into his arms wasn't an option. She couldn't move that far or fast, for one th
ing. More importantly, he didn't act like a lover. Even more importantly, Tom hadn't released her from her promise yet. She might still have some pretending to do. "Thank you," she said, ignoring the fires he ignited, and then couldn't resist adding, "Flattery will get you anything."
"Well, now as to that." He held her hand in both of his.
She waited for him to go on, but he only ran his fingers through hers until all the nerve endings in her skin vibrated. The intimacy of the simple touch staggered her.
"You made some interesting offers last night," he said after what could have been moments or centuries.
"You kept me in your bed."
The leap of memory in his eyes turned her molten.
"Mac," Chickie called. "Telephone."
Mac muttered a curse. "We'll get back to this."
She watched him stride toward the house. Her cowboy fantasy looked better all the time.
A change in the light, the scuff of boots against the flagstones told her she had complany. She looked up.
Moses stood beside her lounger, looking serious. "Got yourself right bruised up, didn't you?"
"It seemed like the thing to do at the time," she said.
"You did a good thing." He sounded almost friendly.
"Thank you."
He stared down at her. "Saw your clothes out by the hot tub this morning. I gave them to Chickie to wash."
"Thank you," she repeated, feeling like a broken record.
"Chickie says she doesn't think you were really chasin' after Tom. Reckon I don't understand."
Poppy's face flamed, and she knew she'd gone six shades redder than her hair. Moses's blunt honesty made her feel like a genuine home wrecker. She had to remind herself that she hadn't done anything shameful. "It's hard to judge a situation from the outside," she said neutrally.
"Reckon that's right," Moses grunted. "But you. Well, I never could see why—"
"Moses, honey, you come help me." Chickie put her hand on his arm and tugged. "Poppy needs to rest today." She towed him away.
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