Unbridled (Unlikely Lovers)

by Brooks, Cheryl

  She smiled as though she knew exactly what was going through his mind. “You can if you like, but I really don’t think it’ll be necessary. I can still function—as long as I don’t make any sudden moves.”

  “You don’t need me to do anything?”

  She shook her head. “Just feed the horses and give me a Dilly Bar.”

  “No foot massage? No back rub?”

  She raised a skeptical brow, no doubt imagining where that sort of activity might lead. “I’d like to finish eating something—something nutritious, that is. Your ding-dong is tasty, but if you keep this up I’ll starve to death.”

  He hung his head in an attempt to appear guilty but simply didn’t have it in him. He didn’t feel guilty. In fact, he felt happier than he had in years. “How about if I nuke your hamburger?”

  “Sure. If it’ll make you feel better.”

  He gathered up her cold lunch and practically tripped over a chair in his haste to get to the microwave.

  Great. Now she’ll think I’m a klutz.

  Fortunately, her microwave wasn’t the type that required a book of instructions to operate. No point in making her think he was klutzy and stupid. When her lunch was nice and hot, he carried it over to her and sat down, resting his cheek on his fist, unable to take his eyes off her. She had no idea how wonderful she’d made him feel. None.

  She must’ve been starving because she ate quickly, which made him feel even worse for having interrupted her meal. However, it wasn’t until she swallowed the last French fry that he realized what her curious glances meant. He was staring.

  “I’m making you nervous, aren’t I?”

  “A little,” she conceded. “There’s no need for you to hover.”

  “I’m not hovering. I’m…admiring you.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” Gathering up the empty wrappers, she stuffed them in the bag, turning away as though trying to avoid his gaze. “I feel like a bug under a microscope.”

  “You don’t want me to look at you?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t say that, but really, Travis, you don’t need to be quite so attentive. I’m not going to die right in front of your eyes.”

  “Maybe not, but when you fell this morning, there for a while, I thought you had. Give me a chance to get over it, okay?”

  Her eyes widened briefly before narrowing into a frown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it bothered you that much.”

  His heart took a rather painful dive and his eyes stung with unshed tears as he recalled seeing her head slam into the gate—perhaps the worst moment of his life. “You have no idea.”

  She searched his face as though she didn’t quite believe him, then her expression changed, becoming more thoughtful. Glancing away she sat silently for several moments, the knuckles of one hand pressed to her lips. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible. “I think I do, actually.” A smile touched her lips so briefly he wasn’t sure he’d seen it. “Don’t mind me. I can be a crotchety old woman sometimes.”

  “And right now, you have every right to be crotchety, whether you’re an old woman or not.” He stopped short, closing his eyes. “I’m talking too much.”

  “Not really, but you do seem…different.”

  She was the reason for the change in him, even though she still didn’t seem to understand that. “If I’m different, it’s because of you.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “I’m very sorry you got hurt, but aside from that, this has been the best day of my life.”

  She smiled back at him, but the slight tilt of her head conveyed her doubt. “Really? The best day of your life? How so?”

  The incredible sex was only part of it, though the way she’d pounced on him that morning would remain permanently etched on his memory. The time they’d spent sitting in the emergency room would’ve been boring with anyone else, yet all of it seemed special, simply because they’d been together.

  “I got to spend it with you.”

  Chapter 17

  While Travis put away the groceries, Miranda made out a list of her barn chores along with a description of each horse and how they should be fed. Travis knew enough about horses to understand the dangers of overfeeding them, so she wasn’t too concerned, which was a first for her. She’d rarely trusted the feeding chores to anyone, not even Levi, who was as meticulous as anyone with autism.

  She brewed another pot of tea while Travis was gone and was sitting at the table, sipping from her favorite mug when he returned. “Any problems?”

  He shook his head as he pulled off his jacket. “Not a one. I did notice a few broken windows up at the barn, though. I can fix them if you like.”

  Miranda practically had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him not to bother when she remembered her intention to be more accepting of his help—plus the fact that this was a task she’d already given up on herself. “Go right ahead. I fixed some of them, but only the sections that slide. I couldn’t figure out how to replace the glass in the stationary windows.”

  “I know how,” he said with a wink. “I can pick up the glass on Monday.”

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” She thought she’d handled that rather well—until his amused grin proved her wrong.

  “Didn’t cut your tongue to say that, now, did it?”

  She set down her cup. “Damn it, Travis, I’m trying. Give me a break.”

  “I was all set to argue with you, but I can’t say I’m disappointed. I’d much rather kiss you than waste time arguing.” Toeing off his boots, he padded into the kitchen, his stocking feet barely making a sound. “Although that ‘kiss and make up’ stuff is sometimes worth it.”

  “If you say so.”

  Kris had rarely been around to fight with, and she sometimes wondered what their marriage would’ve been like if he hadn’t joined the Marines. He’d been content to let her manage the household in his absence, but if he’d been home, would he have felt the same way?

  Miranda had become even more independent after his death, and now that Levi had left the nest, all she wanted to do was to raise a few horses. Her nursing job provided her with income, and though she enjoyed her family and friends and was always there whenever Levi needed her, she’d striven to avoid needing anyone herself.

  Leaning on Travis was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She’d relied on Kris and he’d left her—not intentionally, of course, but the effect was the same—and she never wanted to feel that bereft again. Being gracious and thankful was fine as long as she didn’t allow herself to become complacent. It was too dangerous.

  With that in mind, she thought it best to retreat to a safer topic. “Glad the horses behaved themselves for you. They can be a little rowdy at times.”

  “They went right into their stalls, just like you said they would. You’ve got them pretty well trained. I’ll have to get you to train my horse—if I ever get one, that is. I haven’t had a horse of my own since I was a kid.”

  “I’ll be happy to sell you one of mine,” she said. “Nigel wants Arwen, but I don’t know what I’m going to do with Jadzia. Her back is always sore and I haven’t been able to ride her much. She might do better with a smaller rider, but I’m not sure I’d trust her with a child. She needs someone with more experience. Kes might suit you. She’s like a sports car—very quick and responsive.”

  “I wish I could, but I don’t have a place to keep a horse right now, and I refuse to board one. Do you have any idea what the monthly board bill is at Nigel’s?”

  “Yeah, and I wouldn’t want to pay it, either. My horses don’t cost me that much in four months, and there are five of them. Of course, I already have the land and I’m not trying to make a living raising horses—at least, not yet. Nigel has to make a profit.” She paused, blowing out a breath. “I sure hope he buys Arwen. I know she’ll make a great jumper, and I won’t be sorry to see her go. She’s really nasty to Kes and Jadzia.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “She thinks they’r
e too short.” Pausing, Miranda took a sip of her tea. “She thought you were too short too.”

  Travis stared at her as though she’d just escaped from a psych ward. “Excuse me?”

  She shrugged. “That’s what she said this morning. Kes thought you were cute, Kira said you were just right, but Arwen thought you were too short. Jadzia was embarrassed by the whole discussion.”

  He laughed. “I suppose you’d have to have another concussion to hear any more of their opinions.”

  “I guess so. It was certainly interesting. You should have heard them giggling when I said you had hooves and not fingers.”

  When he sat down at the table, Miranda tried to ignore the feeling of closeness—as though he’d lived with her for years and actually belonged in her kitchen. “What did their voices sound like?”

  “About the way you’d expect,” she replied. “Kira’s voice was deep. Damar’s was high-pitched like a little boy. Arwen sounded like a bitchy teenager—that sort of thing.”

  “Well, if you ever hear them talking again, let me know and I’ll run you back over to the hospital—in fact, I’m not sure I shouldn’t do that right now.”

  She made a face at him. “You’re no fun at all—although Kira thought you would be.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “I’m not even going to ask what she meant by that. I don’t think I want to know.”

  “It was just girl talk.” She waved a dismissive hand. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re only remembering all of this, aren’t you? I mean, should I be concerned?”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Careful, there, Travis. You’re asking the crazy woman if you should be concerned about her sanity. Not sure I’m a very reliable source right now.” Noting his uneasy expression, she reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “No, really. I’m okay—still a little fuzzy at times, but that’s normal. Besides, remembering hallucinations isn’t a bad thing. I’ve had perfectly lucid patients tell me all about the spiders they saw crawling on the ceiling when they were confused. The bad thing is having them.”

  He still seemed uncertain, his expression wary. “And you aren’t hearing the cat talking to you or anything like that?”

  “No. Nobody’s talking to me except for this handsome fellow sitting at my kitchen table—though my vision is a little fuzzy.” Squinting, she studied him closely. “You are real, aren’t you?”

  “Very real.” Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips for a kiss. That brief contact felt more real to her than the pain in her side.

  “Good. If I wake up in the morning and find you’ve disappeared, I’ll know I need help.”

  He smiled. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll be right here.”

  * * * *

  Miranda went out to the living room and attempted to read after lunch, but her blurry vision and the sounds of Travis tidying up the kitchen distracted her from the story. If he hadn’t been doing a better job than she normally did, she would’ve told him not to bother—especially when it occurred to her that he might be paying her back for sucking his dick. She already owed him for the ditch and figured that should have made them even—until she remembered that last night’s dinner had been payment for the ditch. Perhaps he’d want another blow job for fixing the windows.

  My brain is so fucked up…

  Tossing her book aside, she turned on the television. The Weather Channel predicted rain. Again. She wished they’d lie once in a while, if only for the sake of variety.

  She flipped through the channels, looking for something light and mindless—certainly nothing as emotional as The Bridges of Madison County. Sitting through that with Travis had been a huge mistake.

  But he was her boyfriend now—sort of—and curling up on the couch to watch a romantic movie together wouldn’t be quite so awkward. Or would it? She was still a little confused about the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing. It was like waking up in Vegas after a three-day drunk to find yourself married to a total stranger.

  She tried watching Demolition Man, but it was too loud and she’d never much cared for Stallone anyway. The History Channel was airing a program on the natural history of sex. Not quite up to that… She went back to the Weather Channel, thinking perhaps they’d changed their minds about the rain. Not a chance.

  In the end, she opted for the episode of Andy Griffith featuring Aunt Bea’s efforts at making homemade pickles. Unfortunately, all the laughing she did made her broken ribs hurt worse than ever.

  When the show was over, she struggled up off the couch and went to see what Travis was up to. She paused at the threshold as her mouth fell open with surprise.

  I’m hallucinating again.

  The kitchen was spotless. Travis, on the other hand, had a smear of chocolate on the front of his shirt and was licking his finger, looking more adorable than ever.

  “Brownies?”

  “Aw, you spoiled the surprise.” He popped the pan in the oven. “You were supposed to stay put for a while.” Already irresistible, he added insult to injury by flashing that devastating grin at her again. What was it she’d vowed not to do? Become dependent on him? Fall head over heels in love with him?

  That man is gonna break my fool heart...

  She cleared her throat, recalling that Aunt Bea and her pickles had given her the perfect excuse. “I need some more ibuprofen.”

  “You should have asked me,” he scolded. “I would have brought it to you.”

  “Yes, but I also have to go to the bathroom, and I don’t need any help with that. I think I’ll go ahead and take a shower while I’m there.”

  He sniffed as though pretending to fight back tears. “You’re not even going to let me wash your back, are you? You never let me do anything interesting.”

  He was teasing her, of course, but she wasn’t sure how to respond. She could think of a couple of “interesting” things he’d done that day—although perhaps he didn’t count changing her clothes or getting his cock sucked as interesting.

  I wonder what it would take...

  “Sorry, Travis. Perhaps another time.”

  “Okay. Holler if you need anything. The brownies should be ready to eat by the time you’re finished.”

  She shuffled off to use the restroom, popped two ibuprofen, and then gingerly pulled her gown off over her head, stifling a yelp as she raised her arms. Stepping beneath the steaming spray, she sighed with pleasure. After washing her hair, she reached for the soap but couldn’t find it. Travis must’ve used up the last of it when he showered the night before.

  “Travis!”

  He burst through the door. “What’s wrong? You didn’t fall, did you?”

  “No, I just need some soap.” She tried to maintain a normal tone, but it wasn’t easy, considering that she was wet and naked with only a shower curtain between them.

  “No problem. I would have gotten it out last night, but I forgot to ask you where you kept it.”

  “It’s in the cabinet above the toilet.”

  She could hear him rummaging around in the cabinet. “The sandalwood or the verbena?”

  “Verbena,” she replied.

  She waited while he unwrapped the bar, putting her hand up over the curtain rod to take it from him—a position which offered him an excellent view of her bruised ribs when he pulled back the curtain.

  “Whoa, that’s one helluva bruise,” he exclaimed, running his fingers over it. “That has to hurt.”

  Snatching the soap from his hand, she jerked the curtain shut.

  “The rest of you looks just fine, though.”

  “Thanks, Travis,” she snapped. “You may leave now.”

  She could hear him chuckling as he returned to the kitchen. At least they were even on that score—although she had yet to see all of him naked at the same time.

  She finished showering without further incident and got out to dry off, catching a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror mounted on the inside of the ba
throom door. Frowning, she turned and peered at what had caught her eye.

  There were bruises on her butt that looked for all the world like fingerprints. That explained the soreness, but not how they’d gotten there. As she stared at them, she suspected this might be something she would never remember, like the fall that had caused her last concussion. This wasn’t the first time she’d found bruises she couldn’t explain, but those were usually minor and could be attributed to general klutziness. These, however, were evenly spaced and were essentially the same on both sides. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine what she could have fallen against that would leave marks like that.

  How weird…

  * * * *

  The brownies were already cooling on a rack when Miranda returned to the kitchen wearing a clean gown and a robe, looking calm and refreshed.

  Travis, on the other hand, was as hot and bothered as ever. The vision of her wet, naked body had made his dick so hard he was surprised it hadn’t exploded. Nevertheless, he somehow managed to control his lust, simply smiling at her as he poured her a glass of milk. “Feel better now?”

  She nodded. “Much.”

  “Glad to hear it.” She certainly looked better. Her hair was soft and shining, rather than caked with blood, although she still moved stiffly as she took a seat at the table. “I didn’t get any frosting for the brownies, but there’s ice cream left from last night. I figured we could put that and some chocolate syrup on top.”

  “Chocolate syrup?” she echoed. “I don’t have any—along with several other things I’ve learned not to keep in the house. I only had pie and ice cream last night because Levi was supposed to come home for the weekend and I thought you might stay to dinner.”

  “Oh, come on,” he argued. “Everybody has chocolate syrup.”

  “Not me, I don’t—” Her expression suddenly went blank as she stared off into space, tracing her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. Several moments passed before she tossed him an apologetic glance and a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I thought I remembered something.”

  He blew out a breath. “I sure will be glad when you’re over that concussion. It freaks me out when you do that.”