Dancing in the Moonlight

by RaeAnne Thayne

  “That’s as good a place to start as any, I suppose.” She gave him a determined look. “I’m coming with you.”

  She saw arguments brimming in his blue eyes, but after a moment he sighed. “I suppose there’s no way you’ll let me talk you out of that idea so you can rest.”

  “You could try. But you wouldn’t win.”

  He studied her a moment longer, those blue eyes probing. “And I guess you’re going to climb up my grill if I ask how your prosthesis feels today.”

  “It doesn’t have feelings. It’s a fake leg, Doc. That’s kind of the point.”

  “Ha-ha. Seriously, how’s the leg?”

  He seemed genuinely concerned so she dropped the attitude for a moment and gave him the truth. “A little better. I made sure to put it up last night, just as the doctor ordered.”

  “Good. You can do more harm than good if you push yourself too hard. Adjusting to a prosthesis can be a complicated process. You can make it worse if your stump becomes too irritated to wear the thing for the long stretches of time needed to become accustomed to it.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they tell me.”

  She wasn’t in the mood to take medical advice from a man in a tractor T-shirt, so she quickly changed the subject. “I’ll go get my horse while you finish things here. Oh, and I don’t know how you did things on the Cold Creek but we’ve learned pitchforks work better if you actually lift them out of the dirt instead of just leaning on them.”

  His low, amused laughter sent shivers rippling down her spine, and she forced herself to turn away and head for the horse pasture as fast as her fake leg would take her.

  Jake watched her hurry for the horse pasture. She stumbled a little on a rough patch of grass and he had to fight every impulse to race ahead of her and smooth her path.

  She wouldn’t appreciate it, he knew, but he couldn’t stand watching her struggle, especially when he could see she wasn’t telling the complete truth about her pain level.

  She was hurting worse than she let on. Whether that was phantom pain or continuing adjustment irritation from the prosthesis, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter, anyway. She wouldn’t want his help, even if he had the magic potion to fix either problem.

  She had to make her own way. While the doctor in him might want to do his best to take away her pain, he knew she was trying her best to play the wild card she’d been dealt the way she saw fit, and he had to respect her determination.

  Of course, there was a fine line between determination and outright stubbornness.

  He was leading his own horse out of the trailer when she rode around the corner of the barn on the same mare she’d ridden the day before. She led another horse loaded with coiled wire.

  She looked beautiful on horseback, natural and relaxed and graceful. No one watching her ride with such confidence would ever guess what she’d been through the last five months.

  Her glossy dark braid swung behind her, and she lifted her face to the sun as if she couldn’t soak in enough.

  Jake’s stomach tightened, and he could feel blood rush to his groin. He cursed himself for the inappropriate reaction and slammed the horse trailer closed with a little more force than strictly necessary.

  “Come on, Doc,” she called. “I don’t have all day to wait for you.”

  “Aw, hold your horses.”

  She rolled her eyes at his lame attempt at a joke. “I hope you don’t slow me down like this all day.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep up,” he promised.

  Keeping up with her wasn’t the problem, he discovered by lunchtime. Coming up with subtle, creative ways to slow her down and keep her from overdoing things was another story.

  “You need to stop again?” Halfway around the perimeter of the ranch, she stared at him, her eyes dark with suspicion. “That’s three times in four hours. You are a pansy, Dalton.”

  “I’m hungry, okay? I’m not used to all this physical labor. It works up a heck of an appetite. I packed two sandwiches and a couple colas. You want lunch?”

  Since fixing fence was a two-person job, he knew she couldn’t insist on going ahead by herself. Just as he intended, after a moment she shrugged and made her way to the small grassy hill where he’d settled. Though she tried to act tough as nails, he could see the lines of pain around her mouth and the cautious steps she took across the uneven ground.

  Stubborn woman. He wanted to toss her over the back of her little mare and haul her back to the house where she could spend the afternoon with her leg up. The next best thing was manufacturing these little excuses to stop as often as he could so she could rest.

  “Ham and cheese or PB and J?” he asked when she settled against a tree, her leg extended in front of her.

  “Whichever.”

  He handed over the ham and one of the colas he’d had the foresight to stick in the icy river when they stopped at this section of fence a half hour before.

  She popped the top and took a healthy swallow, her eyes closed with obvious appreciation, and he had to focus on his lunch to keep from jumping her right there.

  “Oh, that’s good. Spring runoff gives the water just the perfect temperature for maximum chill. That water’s running fast. How’d you keep the cans from floating downstream?”

  “Old cowboy trick one of the ranch hands taught me when I was a kid. Tie fishing line around the plastic rings and lash that to a tree on the bank. I always keep some in my saddle bag for emergencies.”

  “Just in case you’re ever stranded in the middle of nowhere on horseback with a warm soda. I can see where that would come in handy.”

  “What can I say? I appreciate the finer things in life.”

  She made a snort that might have been a laugh, but he wouldn’t let himself get his hopes up.

  She took another sip. “Since you can’t seem to get through a half hour of work without taking a break, explain to me how a wimp like you ever survived the eighteen-hour shifts of a resident.”

  “Black coffee and plenty of No-Doze. But then, I didn’t have a harsh taskmaster of an Army Lieutenant riding my butt at the University of Utah.”

  She shifted her leg, and he didn’t miss her wince, even though she quickly took another sip of soda to hide it. “I forgot that’s where you went to medical school,” she said after she’d swallowed.

  “Yeah. The Running Utes.”

  “Good medical school. So why didn’t they throw you out for sheer laziness?”

  He thought of the summa cum laude hanging in his office and how he’d worked his tail off to earn it. “Must have been a fluke. I guess I can fake it when necessary. You know how it works, look busy when the attending is around.”

  Her shoulders had relaxed, he saw, and she had lost some of those pain lines around her mouth. Good. He wondered what chance he had of keeping her right here insulting him for the next couple of hours. He supposed he’d have to be happy with a few minutes.

  “So, why does a moderately intelligent medical student with a talent for fakery choose general medicine as a specialty instead of something more lucrative like plastic surgery or urology?”

  “I guess because I like treating the whole patient, not just bits and pieces.”

  “Okay, so you still could have broadened your horizons a little and opened a general medicine practice somewhere more interesting than Pine Gulch, Idaho. So why come home?”

  He had many answers to that particular question, some easier to verbalize than others, but he did his best to put his reasons into words.

  “Old Doc Whitaker gave me my first taste of medicine, literally and figuratively. He probably did the same for you, right?”

  She nodded with a small smile for the robust man who had treated everyone in the county for nearly fifty years.

  “He brought all three of us boys into the world, treated us when we had the chicken pox, helped Seth through the worst years of his asthma,” Jake went on. “In high school, I worked at the clinic on Saturdays and a few afternoons a
week. I grew to admire that old coot for his dedication, for the connection he had to his patients. He knew them all. Their kids, their parents, their sisters and brothers.”

  He was quiet for a moment, remembering the man who had been such a steady influence in his life. “When I was finishing my residency, I tried to picture myself working in some impersonal HMO somewhere treating thirty patients a day. I just couldn’t do it. Around that time, Doc called me, said he wanted to retire and was I interested in buying his practice. Coming home seemed right.”

  “Any regrets?” she asked. “Does fame and fortune ever come calling your name?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. But maybe I had my cell phone turned off and missed it.”

  A smile almost broke free but she sternly forced her mouth back into a straight line before it could escape. “I forget. You’re one of the Daltons of Cold Creek. With your share of the ranch, you probably don’t have to worry about money at all, do you? I guess that makes you just another dilettante.”

  He swallowed a sigh. What would he have to do to get past her anger at his family?

  “Dilettante. Now there’s a big word for an Idaho cowgirl.”

  “Must have read it on a cereal box somewhere.”

  “If I were one of those dili-thingies just out for a good time, I’m pretty sure the amusement quotient would have disappeared once I actually started treating patients. We GPs see some pretty nasty stuff. Anything from impacted colons to uncontrolled vomiting to gangrenous sores.”

  “Try being a nurse, wussy-boy. You doctors get to waltz in, make your godlike proclamations and waltz out again, leaving us hardworking nurses to do the dirty work.”

  “I don’t ever waltz,” he protested, then grinned. “I prefer to sashay.”

  She did smile at that and he couldn’t help feeling he’d just won a major victory. Their gazes held for a long moment and then her smile slid off her face as if she just realized it was there.

  She jerked her gaze away and drank the last of her cola, her expression suddenly fierce. “Okay, party time’s over. If I’ve only got a day to make use of your puny muscles, I don’t want to waste it sitting around shooting the breeze.”

  He almost told her she could make use of his puny muscles—or anything else of his that might interest her—any time she wanted, she only had to say the word.

  But while he wasn’t exactly the lazy wimp she seemed to enjoy taunting him about, he wasn’t an idiot, either, so he decided to keep the thought to himself.

  By the time they finished checking and repairing every fenceline on the Rancho de la Luna and headed back for the house, he was beginning to question either his intelligence or his sanity.

  Why was he torturing himself like this? Maggie hadn’t let up all afternoon about not wanting or needing his help. If anything, she seemed to ride him even harder as the afternoon wore on.

  He had to wonder if she was trying to see just how far she had to push to drive him away.

  If she were any other woman—and if not for those lines of pain around her mouth or the stiff way she sat in the saddle—he would have acknowledged defeat hours ago and let her run him off.

  But he hadn’t been about to leave her to all this work by herself. What she needed was a rest. The quicker they finished up and put the horses away, the quicker she could put her leg up.

  She didn’t seem to want to talk, and he didn’t push her, as the horses made their way along the creek back to the house, the afternoon sun warm on their shoulders and the water churning beside them.

  At the barn he slid down quickly from his horse and looped the reins around the fence, then crossed to the mounting block so he could help her off the horse.

  She’d been stubborn about it all day but he could tell climbing down from the horse was a movement that bothered her. He’d insisted on helping her mount and dismount throughout the day, if only for the chance to touch her, and he intended to this time but she glared at him.

  “Go away, Dalton,” she snapped when he approached. “That’s why we have a mounting block here, so you can stop babysitting me.”

  He just smiled blandly and stood beside the wooden block, just in case she needed him.

  She seemed determined not to, though her teeth clamped together and she couldn’t hide a wince as she swung her prosthetic over the saddle and slid down.

  Before Maggie was completely ready to take her own weight, the mare shifted, just enough to leave her off balance. She stumbled on the block, but before she could fall, he leaped up and caught her, absorbing her weight, and she steadied herself against his chest.

  All day she had tried to act tough as rawhide as she rode alongside him, but now she felt small and fragile in his arms.

  He reacted like any other normal, red-blooded man who suddenly found his arms wrapped around the beautiful woman who had been his secret fantasy for years—the same woman who had tormented him all day just by her presence.

  He kissed her.

  She made a small gasping sound of surprise when his mouth drifted across hers, and then she seemed to freeze in his arms.

  He could feel the soft sough of her breath in his mouth, feel the tremble of her fingers against his chest, and wondered if she could hear his heart hammering against his ribs.

  That smart mouth of hers was surprisingly soft, like apple blossoms, and she tasted like cola and spearmint gum.

  He might have expected her to shove him off the mounting block or give him a judo chop to the head. When she didn’t, when her lips seemed to soften in welcome, he took that as enough encouragement to deepen the kiss.

  Chapter Five

  She couldn’t seem to make her brain work, other than one stunned moment of disbelief that he would have the audacity to kiss her out of the blue without any kind of advance warning.

  Wasn’t that like a Dalton, to just take what he wanted without asking permission?

  Before she could manage to work through her shock enough to actually do something about it—like jerk away or, better yet, give him a swift knee to the privates, her initial astonishment began to give way to something else, something terribly dangerous.

  A slow, sultry ache fluttered to life inside her, and before she fully realized what she was doing, her hands slid into the thin fabric of his T-shirt, holding him fast.

  He made a low sound and deepened the kiss, his mouth firm and purposeful on hers, and she forgot about the pain below her knee, forgot about the frustration she had been fighting the entire day over her own limitations, forgot the man who held her was Jake Dalton, son of the bastard who had destroyed her father.

  For one glorious moment he was only a man—a strong, gorgeous male who smelled of leather and horses and a few lingering traces of that sexy aftershave he used; a solid, strong wall of muscle against her, around her.

  The man was one incredible kisser, she had to admit. She shivered as his mouth explored hers, caressed it. He used exactly the right pressure for maximum impact—not too hard, not too soft. Just right to turn her bones to liquid, her insides to mush.

  Oh, it felt good to be in a man’s arms. For one brief, selfish moment she allowed herself to enjoy it, to savor the sensation of being held and cherished and protected, her blood surging through her, her nerve endings buzzing with desire.

  She wasn’t sure at exactly what moment she shifted from passive recipient to ardent participant. Maybe at the first slight exploring brush of his tongue along the seam of her lips.

  The next thing she knew, her arms had somehow found their way around his neck, she found herself pressing against him tightly, and she was returning his kiss with an enthusiasm that took her completely by surprise.

  She jerked her eyes open and saw him gazing back at her, an unreadable expression in the pure, stunning blue of his eyes.

  The sight of those Dalton eyes looking back at her seemed to shock her back to her senses as if she’d just fallen into the creek.

  What in heaven’s name was she doing?


  She jerked away, nearly stumbling in her haste to put space between them. He steadied her so she wouldn’t fall off the mounting block, then dropped his hand.

  She stared at him, horribly aware of how hard her lungs had to work to draw air, of the tremble of her stomach and how she had to fist her hands together to keep from reaching for him again.

  How mortifying that she would react to his uninvited touch with such eagerness, even a subtle hint of desperation she hoped he couldn’t taste. This was Jake Dalton, the last man on earth she should want to tangle tongues with.

  But she did. Oh, did she!

  Emotions raged through her, and she wanted to yell and curse and rip into him. At the very least, she wanted to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

  She took a deep, steadying breath. She refused to let him know how much he affected her.

  “Was that really necessary?” she asked coolly. “A helping hand would have been sufficient.”

  A muscle quirked in his cheek as if he was amused, though she could see his chest rise and fall rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.

  “I don’t know about you, but I certainly needed it.”

  What kind of game was he playing? she wondered. A pity kiss for poor Stump Girl?

  “Next time I’ll dismount on my own if you’re going to paw me,” she snapped.

  “Is that what you’d call what just happened?”

  She didn’t know what to call it. She only knew she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

  “Don’t let it happen again,” she ordered.

  He studied her for a long moment.

  “What if it does?” His low-timbred voice sent shivers cascading down her spine.

  She drew in a sharp breath and decided to ignore him. Instead she gripped the hand railing and made her way down the three steps of the mounting block.

  “Running away, Maggie? I would have thought you had more spine than that.”