“I won’t melt. Let’s go!” Laughing, she grabbed his hand and tugged him off the old wooden porch and across the graveled parking lot to his truck.
By the time he unlocked the doors and they hurriedly climbed inside, Marcella’s face was wet.
“Oh, the rain is cold!” she exclaimed, shivering and laughing at the same time. “I should’ve worn my heavier coat.”
He started the engine and punched a button to warm their seats. “The heater will warm in a few minutes. You should’ve waited instead of running out into this weather.”
Swiping strands of damp hair from the line of her vision, she tossed him a teasing glance. “What’s the matter? You don’t like having your date look like a drowned rat?”
He chuckled, and then suddenly his hands were cupped around her face, drawing it toward his.
A sigh barely had time to escape her parted lips before his mouth was covering hers in a warm, gentle search that quickly had her wanting more.
“You look like a beautiful redheaded water nymph,” he murmured against her cheek. “Raindrops taste very good on your skin—your lips.”
As soon as the last word was out, he was kissing her again. This time the exploration was far deeper, and the flood of heat washing through her body instantly chased away her shivers.
Gravitating to the warmth of his hard body, she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his neck while her upper body strained to lean across the console and press itself to his.
Her response had him leaning into her, sliding his hands to the center of her back. His tongue probed at the edge of her teeth and she opened her mouth to him. The intimate contact splintered her senses and filled her with a craving she’d never felt before.
The kiss was still going when headlights suddenly flashed through the back windshield. The bright glare caused them to jerk apart as though a firecracker had exploded at their feet.
Her heart hammering, Marcella straightened around in the seat and gulped in several long breaths. Across from her, Denver mouthed a curse under his breath and jerked the truck into gear.
As he drove out of the parking lot, he said, “Sorry about that, Marcella. I—There for a minute, I...sort of forgot where we were.”
“So did I.” She glanced over at him and wondered what he was possibly thinking about her, wanting from her. Had that kiss implied he wanted to deepen their relationship? The mere idea of that rattled her as much as the kiss. “I don’t know about you, Denver, but I’m not really in the mood for a movie.”
Braking at a stop sign, he glanced over at her. “I’m not, either. So what would you like to do? The night is still early.”
“It’s rainy and cold. Why don’t we just go to my place? I’ll make us some hot chocolate and we can watch TV—or something.”
“Are you sure? If there’s something else you’d rather do, just tell me. I don’t want this to be a bum date for you.”
“Just spending time with you will be special.”
An odd expression flickered across his face, and for a moment she thought he was going to insist they do anything besides what she was suggesting.
But then he shrugged one shoulder and turned the truck in the general direction of her house.
Marcella settled back in the seat and wondered if she’d just invited herself a heartbreak, or finally found the courage to open the door to the rest of her life.
Chapter Seven
A short while later, Denver sat on the end of the couch with Marcella occupying the cushion next to him. Every fiber of his being was consumed with her scent, the sound of her voice, the slightest movement of her body.
Coming here had been a big mistake, he thought. Without Harry and Peter present, there was nothing to prevent him from reaching for her. Nothing to stop him from picking up the kiss that had been so rudely interrupted in the parking lot of Jose’s Cantina.
You have your common sense to stop you, Denver. Why don’t you use it? Less than an hour ago the woman told you without a moment’s hesitation that she was dreaming of having another baby. Not just one, but two or three. That should have been more than enough to send you hightailing it back to the Horn. Instead, you’re sitting here like a fool, just asking for trouble.
“I wonder if the rain is expected to turn into snow?”
Her question interrupted the chiding voice in his head, and he looked over to see she was placing her mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of them. Her rain-damp hair was now dry, leaving a few unruly strands to curl around her face. The pink lipstick she’d been wearing was long gone, yet the bareness of her lips made them even more appealing. Just looking at the moist curves caused his gut to clench with longing.
“It’s certainly getting cold enough to snow. If that happens, we’ll have to round up a huge herd of cattle off Tumbleweed Butte and bring them down to a more sheltered range.”
“I don’t know anything about ranching,” she confessed, “but wouldn’t that be something you’d do before bad weather arrived?”
He nodded. “Normally that’s the case. But this autumn we decided to leave them on the butte a little longer because warm weather lingered and the grass was still good. Whether the snow comes tonight or later, we’ll have to move them soon.”
She pulled off her dress boots and, after squaring around on the cushion, drew her feet up under her. Tonight she was wearing a midnight blue dress made of some sort of knit that clung to her body like his leather work gloves shaped to his hands. She looked ravishing and sexy, and his palms itched with the want to touch her, to glide his hands over her curves and down the smooth, silky length of her legs.
“I can see where the weather would cause you extra work,” she said, then with a thoughtful tilt to her head added, “Actually, it causes us extra work in the ER, too. Car accident victims, falls on the ice, skiing mishaps, frostbite. The list goes on and on. But in spite of the extra work, I enjoy seeing the mountains covered in white.”
“Do you ski?” he asked.
She chuckled. “On the baby slopes. I took Peter and Harry skiing for a day last year at one of the resorts near Tahoe. As a Christmas gift from me. I think I fell far more than they did.” Still smiling, she asked, “What about you? Do you ski or do outdoor sports?”
He shook his head. “Not winter sports. Unless you consider riding a horse up and down a snowy mountain a sport,” he said wryly. “But I played lots of baseball in my younger years.”
“Were you good at it?”
He shrugged. “Good enough to get a college scholarship.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.”
“I suppose it was, but I turned it down.”
Frowning, she studied his face, and Denver was suddenly imagining how different things might have been if he’d met Marcella all those years ago. Maybe his life would’ve taken a totally different path. Maybe he’d be a husband and father now. Instead of a widower.
“But why? That would’ve been a great opportunity.”
He placed his empty mug next to hers on the coffee table. “That’s true. But I didn’t have any interest in trying to make a career out of baseball. My heart was already set on ranching. So I got an associate’s degree in ranch management and played baseball just for the fun of it.”
“Well, I’d better not let the boys know you were that good at the game. They’d never quit bugging you about it.”
When he and Christa had first married, he’d had plenty of dreams about having sons and teaching them about baseball, ranching and all the things they’d need to know to become an adult. But then Christa had become ill and all hopes of having their own biological children had been stolen away. Now he tried not to picture himself with a family. He couldn’t live through that kind of loss again.
“I noticed the boys had baseball gear in their bedroo
m. Do they do Little League?”
“Yes. With my work hours, it’s not always easy to get to their games and practices, but I manage to attend most of them. Whenever work does interfere, I have a generous girlfriend who takes them along with her own boy.”
As he studied her face, he realized the glow in her eyes had nothing to do with the nearby lamplight. The shine in her eyes was that of a mother talking about her children.
“It’s not easy being a single parent, is it?”
One of her brows arched as though his question had surprised her. “So you’ve noticed.”
“I’ve noticed. Along with a few other things.” He looked across the room at the television Marcella had turned on earlier, but with the sound lowered it was little more than flickering colors and lights. Not that he would have paid any attention to what was happening on the screen. All he could think about was her warm body only inches away, her giving mouth and gentle hands. “It’s very quiet without Harry and Peter here.”
“I can’t remember the last time I was home without them.” Brushing her long hair back over her shoulder, she cast him a sheepish smile. “I shouldn’t admit this to you, but I have the feeling they insisted on going to their grandmother’s tonight just so that the two of us could be alone.”
He stared at her. “What makes you think that?”
Her cheeks suddenly bloomed a rosy color. “Because they love spending time with you. They wouldn’t have missed the chance unless—well, I think they’ve decided to play matchmakers. I hope you won’t let it bother you. Believe me, it was none of my doing.”
“Hmm. So you think they like the idea of the two of us together?”
“Far too much,” she murmured. “But they—they’re just kids—they don’t understand about adults. I mean, about a man and a woman. Like me. And you.”
Suddenly he couldn’t stop himself from leaning toward her. “Well, I understand it. So do you. And I figure it’s about time we did something about it. Don’t you?”
“Denver.”
She whispered his name as she moved toward him, and then he was gathering her in his arms, covering her lips with his.
Kissing her in the truck had been a quick, reckless impulse. This time was different. They were completely alone with no one to interrupt. And he intended to make the most of the opportunity.
With a needy groan, he shifted her upper body across his left arm, while his mouth settled more deeply over hers. Almost instantly her lips parted and the tip of her tongue invited his to slip inside. She tasted like crushed berries. Tart and sweet at the same time. And he couldn’t get enough. Even when his lungs began to burn for oxygen, he didn’t want to break the contact.
Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his head. The softness of her rounded breasts pushing against his chest spurred his need to have more than her mouth and the taste of her kiss.
Before he could stop himself, he was guiding her down on the couch and shifting his body so that he was lying next to her. She welcomed the more intimate position by draping her body tightly over him and fastening her hands over the ridge of his shoulders.
Her reaction fueled his desire, and though it was impossible to deepen the fusion of their mouths, he tried. Until the desperate need to breathe had him tearing his lips away from hers and burying his face in the side of her hair.
“Marcella. Touching you, kissing you, shouldn’t feel this good,” he whispered roughly. “But it does.”
Her lips pressed against his neck, causing his eyes to close, his loins to tighten. If she had any idea what she was doing to him, she would stop, he thought. Or would she? Maybe she wanted this as much as he did. The idea was like an accelerant to a fire that was already raging.
“Yes. So good,” she murmured. “So perfect.”
With his hand cupped around her chin, he brought her lips back to his, but the precious contact wasn’t enough to satisfy either of them. He needed to touch her bare skin, slide his lips over her breasts and sink himself into the most intimate part of her.
Urgently his hand searched for the hem of her dress. Once he found it, he shoved the material upward, exposing the curve of her thigh and a portion of black panty covering her hip. As his hand explored the tender flesh, her mouth opened wider; her tongue begged for his.
Even though their bodies were already crushed tightly together, he tried to draw her closer. He wanted to feel the beat of her heart hammering against his. He needed the warmth of her flesh to chase away the cold shadows that had haunted him for so long.
Somewhere beyond the roaring in his head, he heard her moan, and the pleading sound fed the flames licking at his brain. He wanted this woman and she wanted him. That was all that mattered for now.
His hand moved to her inner thigh, and her legs parted. The invitation staggered him and suddenly the reality of the moment hit him so hard his eyes flew wide-open.
She doesn’t want just sex on the couch. She wants babies and a husband. She wants a family!
The terrifying voice going off in his head was enough to have him jumping to his feet and grabbing up his hat.
“Denver! What—Are you leaving?”
He looked over to see her rising from the couch and smoothing her dress back over her hips. The sight caused him to shiver with lingering desire and a fear he couldn’t shake.
With both hands curled around the brim of his hat, he forced himself to stand where he was until she reached him.
“I’m sorry, Marcella. I have to go. Now. You’re not ready for this. I’m not ready for it. And I—” Drawing in a shaky breath, he practically coughed up the next words. “I’m not sure I ever will be.”
Her face a picture of confusion, she wrapped her fingers over his forearm. “Denver—
“Don’t ask me to explain, Marcella. I can’t. It’s not you. It’s me.”
He turned and headed to the foyer with her close on his heels. It was all he could do to keep from turning and lifting her into his arms. From carrying her straight to the bedroom and making love to her until the world around them was blotted away and nothing else mattered.
“I’m sorry, Denver. For me. For you. For the both of us,” she said hoarsely.
“So am I, Marcella. More than you’ll ever know.”
Before she could touch him or say anything else, he opened the door and stepped out into the night.
The wind had picked up, and as he lifted his face to the dark sky, he saw bits of white snow dancing in the air.
Thank God he’d be spending long hours in the saddle on Tumbleweed Butte tomorrow, he thought. Maybe the arduous job would help to push Marcella from his aching heart.
* * *
“Marcella, have you gotten your flu shot? It’s getting on down in November and we’ve already seen several cases in the ER.”
The question came from Paige as the two women ate their evening meal in the hospital cafeteria. For the past ten minutes Marcella had stared at the chicken casserole on her plate rather than eat it.
Frowning, Marcella said, “Yes. I got the shot over a month ago. Why do you ask?”
“These past few days you’ve looked pale and droopy. I’m wondering if you’re coming down with the flu or something.”
“Or something” was more like it, Marcella thought grimly. Three whole days had passed since her date with Denver Saturday night. She hadn’t heard from him since, and though she told herself he’d probably been busy dealing with the cattle and blizzard-like weather, she knew he’d had the time to text her, at least. But he hadn’t and she didn’t know what to make of his silence.
“I’m not getting ill, Paige. But I am miserable,” she confessed. “And to make matters worse I haven’t been able to hide my mood from Peter and Harry. They can tell that something is wrong with
their mother, they just don’t know what.”
“Oh, what’s happened? Did you get into an argument with your mother? Or is something wrong with your brother?”
A tight grimace flattened Marcella’s lips. “I just heard from my brother a couple of days ago. He’s fine. As for Mom, ever since she found out I was interested in Denver, she’s been harping at me, swearing that all cowboys are irresponsible bums.”
“How would she know? Did a cowboy break her heart at one time?”
“Not hardly. Since she and Dad divorced, she’s never cared enough about any man to have her heart broken. No, I think Denver being a cowboy really has nothing to do with her opinion. She wants to pick out my dates. Not leave the choice up to the bad judgment of her daughter.”
Paige groaned. “Oh Lord, Marcella, why do you let her opinion carry any weight with you, anyway? You’re a grown woman with a mind of your own.”
Marcella put down her fork and reached for her water glass. “In this case, I’m afraid she’s right. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Denver.”
Paige’s mouth fell open. “Marcella, you can’t be serious! I thought things with you two were heating up.”
They’d heated up, all right, Marcella thought sadly. But Denver hadn’t wanted any part of the fire, and she’d spent the past three days wondering what she’d done wrong. Why everything about his kisses had told her he’d wanted her, and then suddenly he hadn’t wanted her. Just thinking about the abrupt way he’d left caused a heavy pain in the middle of her chest.
“I thought so, too. But we—uh, well, to be honest, I think Denver has decided he doesn’t want to get involved. I mean, seriously involved. I haven’t heard from him in a few days. I’m not even sure if I will.”
Paige’s head swung back and forth with disgust. “Men. They can be such bastards. Tell me, Marcella, why do we even want them around?”
Marcella sighed. “I often wonder. Then I see my friends with loving husbands and children and I can’t help but hope and wish that I could have the same. But it’s not going to happen with Denver. I can see that now.”
The Cowboy's Christmas Lullaby Page 9
