Josie couldn’t figure out exactly what Trent’s interest was in all this. It was as if someone had appointed him guardian of Susannah’s love life, although, from a few of Chase’s indirect comments, Josie had gathered that Trent and Susannah didn’t much like each other.
“I’m not sure whether I’m reading between the lines correctly here. But if you, or anyone, think I’m getting into some kind of competition with Susannah, you couldn’t be more wrong. Do I find Chase attractive? Of course I do. Poll the females in this room, and find me even one who doesn’t.”
Trent chuckled. “Yeah. I guess that proves women are nuts.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “But I know this marriage is very important to her. I wouldn’t interfere with that, even if I could. And I couldn’t.”
He raised one eyebrow. “What makes you think you couldn’t?”
“Come on, Trent.” She smiled. “Pretend it’s a horse race, and look at the tip sheets on each of us. Based on history, bloodline, experience, conditioning, familiarity with the track…She wins by a mile, in any weather, on any surface.”
“Maybe so—on paper, anyhow. Sounds as if you’re a gambler.”
“No. But my stepfather was.”
“Then you also know what a dark horse is. A long shot. And you know that they’ve been known to come in. Especially if the horse is ready, and she wants it bad enough.”
She was suddenly weary of the racing metaphor.
She didn’t want to spend this whole party trying to read between the lines of the complicated Clayton social set. She hadn’t been to a party in months, and she wanted to enjoy herself.
“Don’t worry, Trent,” she said. “This is one dark horse that isn’t coming in anywhere except on the scratch sheet.”
“The scratch sheet?”
“Yes. You can tell Susannah she’s got nothing to worry about. When Monday comes, I’m going home.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THEY LAUGHED AND SANG all the way home, as if they were drunk, even though neither one of them had touched liquor all night. Josie had the baby to consider, and Chase…well, he hadn’t had a drink for ten years, not since the night of Paul’s accident.
He loved to see her so happy, especially after the tension of their dance. Somehow she’d seemed to shrug it off, and she’d wholeheartedly thrown herself into having fun.
Maybe she realized that, if she was going back home on Monday, this might be her last chance to feel so free, to dance and laugh and set aside all thoughts of the future.
He wanted her to make the most of it. So he’d fed the happiness everything he could find, trying to prolong it. He brought her delicious food and exotic virgin cocktails. He’d introduced her to all the most entertaining people, and he’d asked the band to play the songs he knew she’d liked.
But the real hilarity had started when she finally won a door prize. The really great stuff at the dance was all up for auction—it was a fund-raiser, after all. Obviously Josie couldn’t bid on any of that, but there were several door prizes, too, and she’d set her heart on winning one of them.
She’d held her breath while they gave away the weekend in Galveston. She’d said a prayer when the turquoise earrings were up. She’d even crossed her fingers, hoping to be called for the Swedish massage.
But she hadn’t won any of those. Instead, when they hollered out her ticket number, it was for a big, hulking black saddle.
A buffalo buckstitched pleasure saddle, to be exact.
Wouldn’t you just know it? The expression on her face was priceless. She’d climbed the stage, trying to look thrilled, but when they handed her the saddle it was clear she didn’t even know how to hold it—much less how to use it.
“I’m sorry,” she said now, still smiling as they approached the front door of the Double C. “I know in your world saddles are serious business. It’s just that—”
She started to giggle again. “Why do they call it—”
He tried to get the key in the lock. But it wasn’t easy when you were laughing. “A pleasure saddle?”
Her eyes danced. “And not just any pleasure saddle. A buffalo buttstitched…I mean…a buffalo suttbicked…”
She simply couldn’t say it. Laughter had tied a knot in her tongue. She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, lord. I’m going to wake up Imogene.”
“She’s not here, remember? She’s with her sister in Austin. Laugh as loud as you want. You might annoy the horses, but there’s no one else to complain.”
She inhaled deeply, hiccupping midbreath, which set off another round of giggles. She leaned against the siding, trying to get control.
He smiled. He knew this was his fault. All the way home, he’d done everything but stand on his head to amuse her, egging her on, making it worse, hoping she wouldn’t ever stop.
He loved the sound of her giggles. He basked in the glow on her face.
He wasn’t the only one. He’d seen it all night long, on the faces of the other men. She was so full of life—she seemed essential, like the bubble in your champagne.
Every man at the party between seven and seventy had wanted to dance with her, and most of them had.
It hadn’t been easy, standing back while they spun her on the floor, twirled her and do-si-doed her, linked hands with her to shoot the star. She had a natural grace, and a wellspring of enthusiasm that acted like a magnet, pulling other people to her, so that they could share in the joy.
It was all he could do to keep from cutting in every couple of dances. He held back by reminding himself that maybe these guys could hold her hand…but he was the lucky cowboy who would get to take her home.
And Imogene wasn’t there.
Finally he got the lock open. He held the door wide, stepped aside and let her through. She danced into the foyer, then twirled her way into the library, where she dropped with a sigh onto the sofa.
He followed, the ridiculous saddle draped over his left arm.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said, sighing as she kicked off her shoes. “You must think I’m such a dork.”
“Must I?’ He arranged the saddle carefully over the arm of the sofa, spreading out the fenders so that they dangled free. “Why?”
She grinned up at him. “Because I’m pretty sure only twelve-year-old boys think words are funny just because they rhyme with buck.”
He chuckled.
“A sophomoric sense of humor isn’t your biggest sin,” he said. He made a small adjustment on the saddle, so that it balanced more securely. “The real shame is that you don’t appreciate what a nice door prize you just won. Any guy at the party would gladly have bought it from you.”
“No way.” She leaned across and placed a protective hand over the black leather seat. “This beauty is mine.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you plan to do with it?”
“I’m going to use it,” she said. She wrinkled her cute nose. “As soon as I learn how.”
“Okay. How about if I teach you?”
She cocked her head, giving him a quizzical look. “Now?”
“Yeah. Right now. Come on, tenderfoot. Let’s see how you do.”
He reached down, grabbed her hands and lifted her to a standing position.
She protested laughingly, but didn’t pull away. Obediently, she let him arrange her on the far side of the couch.
“Let’s start with the mount,” he said. “Face me, grab hold of the horn, then throw your right leg over the saddle.”
She did as she was told, smiling at the foolishness of it. The leather creaked gently under her weight, but it didn’t slip. As soon as she was situated, she gripped the sofa with her knees.
She wriggled her bottom on the leather seat, finding the most comfortable spot.
“No problem.” She gripped the horn with both hands. “See? I’m a natural.”
“Not so fast, there, Annie Oakley.” He pried her fingers free. “You can’t hold on to the horn while you’re riding. You’ll need your hands
for the reins. That’s how you’ll tell the horse what you want him to do.”
She raised her brows. “I want him to go very, very slowly and never toss me off.”
“No, you don’t. That would be much too boring.” He held out his arms. “Here. Put your hands here. I’ll be your reins.”
She glanced up at him, hesitating slightly, her eyes darkened just enough to tell him that their lighthearted foolishness might be turning into something else.
But then, with a nervous smile, she wrapped her fingers around his wrists. They felt warm and slightly tremulous against his skin.
“Good.” He squared off his feet, bracing his knees against the sofa. “Now, remember—riding won’t always be as easy as this. For one thing, the horse will be moving under you.”
Without warning, he pulled back his arms slightly, causing her to rock forward. She gasped, and balanced herself again.
“See? Not so simple. If you’re going to stay on, you have to learn to move with him.”
He tugged again, and this time she was ready. She leaned toward him, tucking her seat forward, lifting just a little with her knees.
“That’s right. Just like that.” He moved her yet again. “Forward, then back. Forward, then back.”
She rocked in place slowly, tilting her pelvis toward the horn when he told her to, letting him control the rhythm.
“Chase,” she began. But she didn’t say anything else. She seemed to need all her focus to keep her balance.
He held her gaze with his. “Good,” he said. “Nice and steady. Just let it flow.”
She swallowed hard, nodding. He never increased the rhythm, but after a minute or two her fingers tightened against his wrists, and her breath started to come faster.
He knew what was happening to her. He also knew he ought to stop.
But he was shameless—and he couldn’t even offer the excuse that he’d been carried away by the moment. On some subconscious level, at least, this was premeditated, and he knew it.
Ever since they had danced together, he’d been thinking of something like this, of finding an excuse to touch her, to take the heat that simmered between them and bring it to the boiling point.
He knew it would be this easy. Her senses had already been spiking, tonight, when they were dancing. In fact, for the past several days, every time they were together, they both rode dangerously close to the edge.
“Don’t stop,” she said softly. He looked down and realized that his arms had frozen in place.
“Josie, we should—”
“No, please.” She shut her eyes. “Please, Chase. It feels so good.”
He couldn’t say no. He was already too far gone. He began again, and she let her head fall back with a low moan. The dream catcher feathers dangled free, swaying to the same steady, unrelenting beat.
She was so unguarded, and so beautiful. He felt himself hardening, caught up in the rhythm, too, helplessly turned on by the sight of her flushed cheeks, her parted lips. By the feel of her fingers, tightening, trembling, holding on to his wrists as if they were the only steady spot in a tilting universe.
“Josie,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes. They were unfocused, shining and bemused.
He bent his arms slowly, bringing them up toward his chest. She didn’t let go. She followed them, bending her torso over the horn, making a soft noise as she pressed hard against the leather.
At the moment their lips met, she whispered his name.
That was all he needed. He freed his arms, and wrapped them around her, lifting her from the saddle.
She wound her legs around his hips, meeting his fire with her own. This wasn’t a game anymore. It wasn’t just a clever seduction with props and toys.
If there had been any seduction tonight, it was she who seduced him.
He didn’t want her to find her release there, against the stiff leather of the horn. He wanted her in his arms, with her mouth against his, so that when she cried out he could feel it reverberate all the way through him.
He kissed her hard, with every ounce of heat and conviction he’d held back the last time. He wound his hands into her hair, his fingers catching on feathers. He throbbed painfully against his jeans, as desperate as a teenager, needing to be in her now, before it was too late.
He carried her to the sofa, and they fell together against the cool, slick leather. She was still rocking under him, fumbling with his buckle. Somehow he managed her zipper, and began to slide the jeans down her silken thighs.
And then the doorbell rang.
SUSANNAH HATED to bother Chase so late at night, especially after he’d been such a sweetheart at the party, square-dancing with old ladies who had big bank accounts and talking bloodlines with the old guys who had fat checkbooks, just to help the Burn Center.
Thanks, in part, to his special, homespun charm, the dance had been a financial success.
But the rest of her evening had been a complete disaster.
And frankly, she needed a friend.
No one came to the door. She wondered if he’d already gone to bed. Ordinarily he stayed up a while, reading in the library, but maybe he didn’t do that anymore, now that he had a guest in the house.
She rang again. Maybe he was on the back porch.
The door jerked open quite suddenly. It was Chase, and thank goodness he didn’t look annoyed at being disturbed in the middle of the night.
“Hey, there,” he said with a smile. “You’re up late. Is everything okay?”
“No,” she said. “Not really. Would it be okay if I come in? I think I just need someone to talk to.”
“Sure,” he said. He stepped away from the door. “Josie’s heading to bed, but I’m not quite ready to turn in.”
She looked over his shoulder and saw Josie on the first landing. The young woman looked uncomfortable, and oddly tousled.
“Hi,” Josie said, holding on to the banister with one stiff hand. She smiled, but the smile didn’t look right, either. Her lips seemed swollen. Susannah wondered whether she might have been crying. “The dance was fantastic, Susannah. I hope you made a ton of money for the Burn Center.”
“We did very well,” Susannah said, trying to identify the odd nuances of this situation. “I’m glad you could come.”
If she didn’t know better, she might think that she’d interrupted something awkward. The problem was, she was so unsettled by her own bad news that she couldn’t really focus on anything else.
“Me, too.” Josie smiled again. She lifted her hand in a stiff wave. “Well, good night, then.”
“Good night,” Chase said politely. Then, as Josie disappeared around the turn in the stairs, he gestured toward the library. “Want to talk in here?”
Susannah followed him in, less comfortable than she could ever remember feeling in Chase’s house. Something definitely wasn’t right.
“Have you and Josie been quarreling?”
Chase glanced at her over his shoulder. “Of course not. She just tires easily. It’s the pregnancy, I guess.”
Susannah nodded. “I guess so.”
It sounded plausible, but…
She’d known Chase so long, it was hard for him to hide anything from her. She knew all his expressions, all his tones. She knew what he looked like when he was lying about something minor, like telling her a haircut looked good when it didn’t, or telling his dad he’d missed curfew because he’d run out of gas.
She also knew what he looked like when he was lying about something important, like when he’d tried to tell her his marriage was doing fine. Or when he told her he really believed Paul was going to be all right.
This was something in between. Not a major whopper, but not a tiny white one, either.
“Want something to drink?” Chase made his way to the big granite bar over near the fireplace. “I’ve got some wine, some beer…”
“No, thanks,” she said. She went straight to the sofa and plopped down, so glad to get off her feet,
which were killing her from hours of standing in those boots. The first thing she’d done when she got home was whip off the whole ridiculous outfit and put on a pair of jeans and sneakers instead.
The second thing she’d done was listen to her messages.
Big mistake.
Chase pulled a bottled water out for himself and twisted off the cap. “So what’s up? Nothing went wrong at the barn after we left, did it?”
“No.” Chase and Josie had hung in, helping with the breakdown until the bitter end, when the last caterer had put the last box of empty champagne glasses back into their vans. “Thanks for staying, by the way. You were a big help with Nikki.”
“No problem. She’s giving you hives these days, I know, but I like the little brat.” He took a swig of the water. “So…you were going to tell me what’s happened?”
The subtle prompt surprised her. He was ordinarily the most patient of all men. He’d seen her through a lifetime of crises, and he’d never pushed. When Trent left, Chase had sat beside her in silence for hours, holding her hand and waiting for her to feel like talking.
And that was another off note. He wasn’t sitting beside her. He wasn’t holding her hand. He was still behind the bar.
She shifted on the sofa nervously. What was she missing?
She picked up a feather that lay on the arm of the sofa. She fingered it absently, using it to stall. If he had problems of his own tonight, she didn’t want to add to them. She could always tell him about Dean Pitcher’s message tomorrow.
She stroked the feather, pulling the vane softly until it lay smooth against its shaft. It wasn’t a big feather, but it was a pretty one. A glossy, blue-and-green peacock feather.
Her hands froze as she realized what she was holding.
It was a feather from the dream catcher Josie had worn in her hair tonight.
Suddenly everything made sense. Susannah understood, finally, exactly what she had interrupted.
Slowly, she let her gaze rise to meet his.
“Chase? Is there anything you want to tell me?”
He didn’t look guilty, didn’t flush, didn’t rush into over eager explanations. But he at least paid her the compliment of not denying it, of not pretending that she was being a typical paranoid female and imagining things.
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