Wind River Cowboy

by Lindsay McKenna

  Kira swallowed hard and stared at Brook. “That’s exactly how Garret makes me feel. He doesn’t have to touch me, but just being in his presence helps me so much . . .”

  “Maybe there’s something more going on between you and Garret?” Brook wondered.

  Shock flowed through Kira. Brook understood exactly how she felt. Then she shook her head. “Did Garret put you up to this? To talk to me, Brook?”

  Her mouth curved ruefully. “No. He hasn’t said a word. It’s just what I’m picking up around the two of you, the way you look at each other. There’s something special between the two of you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  December 20

  Kira sat out in the living room with her journal across her lap at three a.m. The house was quiet, the drapes drawn, and she was curled up beneath her warm afghan. A nightmare had awakened her. Would they ever stop?

  Outside, it was snowing. The weather forecaster had predicted another ten inches from the latest storm coming over the valley. With it being only four days until Christmas, Kira knew it would affect traffic in the valley and last-minute shoppers. But her heart and mind weren’t on the holiday. They were squarely focused on the A team. Wiping tears drifting down her cheeks, she stared down at her journal.

  She heard a door open and close down the hall. It had to be Garret. Had he heard her screams earlier? She’d awakened herself with them. Twisting a look over her shoulder, she saw him emerge from the darkened hall, his eyes half open, his short hair mussed. Even in a dark blue T-shirt and blue flannel pajamas hugging his legs, he stirred her lower body to life.

  “I woke you up, didn’t I?” she asked, giving him an apologetic look.

  “No, I woke up on my own,” he mumbled, wiping his face. “Want some tea?”

  “Sure,” she whispered, turning her attention to the journal. So much of her anxiety diminished because of his presence. Brook’s observation weeks before had impacted Kira strongly. And since then, they’d become even closer friends, talking on the phone when they could and going out to lunch together, which wasn’t often, but Kira enjoyed the company of another woman who understood the military. Brook was so easy to talk to . . .

  “Where did you go?” Garret teased as he set a mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of her.

  She smiled faintly and looked up at him. He had such an intense, rugged look. “I was just thinking was all,” she whispered. Watching him move around the table and come to sit close to her made her feel that delicious sense of protection. The couch dipped beneath his weight although he sat a good twelve inches from where her feet were tucked beneath the afghan.

  “Did you have a nightmare?” he asked, studying her as he leaned his elbows on his thighs, the mug between his hands.

  “Yes. I get so tired of them, Garret. I just wish they’d go away.”

  He grunted, his mouth pursed. “Libby Hilbert brought up a good point last week at our meeting,” he said in a low tone. “That these nightmares are a way of working out the shock and trauma of it. Each time the dream is a little less potent, a little less intense than the one before.”

  “Yes,” Kira sighed, “I know she’s right because I’ve seen it in myself. I see less intensity in my dreams than before I came here.” She moved her hand lightly across the open journal. “But it’s still so painful.”

  “We’ve got a lot to work out from Afghanistan,” he soothed, giving her a concerned look. “Is that a drawing of Aaron Michelson?”

  She looked down at her pen-and-ink drawing of the CO of the A team. “Yes. I made a number of drawings of all the guys.” She shrugged. “When I lost my photos I wanted to do something to remember certain days or times with them.”

  “Can I see?”

  Kira had never handed Garret her journal. She hesitated fractionally and then nodded. He put the tea on the coffee table and took the large journal from her, settling it across his knees.

  “You’re really a fine artist, Kira. Another talent of yours.”

  Warmth flowed through her. Above all, she didn’t want Garret to see the section she’d devoted to him. There were at least six drawings of him she’d made at various times, and she’d written thoughts that, if he read them, would give away that she loved him. “Thanks.”

  Garret’s mouth pulled into a slight smile. “I remember this incident. The chief of the village got in a flock of geese. He was trying something new, wanted eggs in the diet of his people. Special Forces had worked with him on it.” He tapped the drawing, which showed the captain with the chief surrounded by about forty white, honking geese. Kira had drawn the many children who had made a circle around the geese, keeping them penned in with their small, skinny bodies. “That was such a hilarious day,” he said, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. Looking up, he said, “You captured it perfectly, Kira.”

  Her heart opened to the boyish, sleepy-eyed look Garret gave her. She cherished these times because he was vulnerable and open to her. Being half asleep, she was sure, was partly why.

  Several strands of hair dipped down over his broad brow as he read the writing that went with the illustration. She saw his expression soften as he read. His large hands, those long, strong fingers, curved over the journal, as if to caress and care for it. She ached to have those hands trail over her body. There was no way Kira was going to tell Garret that since their kiss, her dreams had changed, become sexually charged and explicit regarding him. That one kiss had broken a dam of emotion, sexual need and love for him wide open within her.

  “I like that you wrote about that incident,” he said, giving her an admiring look. He gently touched the nearly hundred pages of the journal, the paper thick and cream-colored, able to handle drawings like this. His fingers lingered over the other pages in the journal.

  “It has the date, the names of the people I drew and what happened.”

  “And you did this because even though you were taking photographs, this was another way to record it?”

  “Yes.” A little fear moved through her and she hoped Garret wouldn’t start riffling through the rest of the journal. If he ever saw the portion on him . . . Her mouth went a little dry. Opening her hands, she stretched them toward him, wanting her journal back.

  Garret handed it to her. He picked up his tea. “When you saw the families of the guys, did you show them these drawings?” he wondered.

  “Yes . . . yes, I did. I was afraid to at first, but Aaron’s wife, Denise, was so grateful that I’d sketched him that I went to a place that had a copier and made archival-quality copies of every one of them for her. She treated them like they were a Christmas gift, saying she was going to keep them for their children in a special scrapbook.”

  “She’ll probably show them the drawings when the kids are at an age where they can understand and appreciate them.”

  Kira nodded, sipping her tea, feeling the invisible cloak of his care powerfully surround her. His hazel eyes were no longer cloudy with sleep. Instead, she saw the desire in the green-and-gold depths of them—for her—she was sure.

  It had been nearly a month since they’d kissed. Kira hadn’t decided if that was a good thing or not. Garret had made no further attempt to kiss her again. But then, she hadn’t either. She was convinced she was an emotional invalid of sorts when it came to love. Brook had laughed outright at that definition of herself, telling her nothing could be further from the truth. But she felt fear about broaching the topic with Garret. Afraid of what he might say. Kira knew she wasn’t emotionally strong enough to take his rejection at this point.

  “Every wife and girlfriend of the guys wanted my sketches. It made me feel good that I could do something so positive for them. I was heartbroken that my camera and cards had been stolen. I couldn’t give them the photos I’d taken. Sometimes I still cry for their loss because those photos would have given them so much more.”

  Garret sat back, resting the mug on one thick thigh. He reached out, squeezing her foot beneath the afghan. “No, you gav
e them something of equal value, Kira. It’s good that you know how to draw, that you put down the date when you drew each of the guys. Those are going to be forever keepsakes for their families. You did such a good thing for them.”

  She felt his care and something else. Her heart said it was love for her, but her mind questioned it. “I was glad I could do it.”

  “By going through your journal? By looking at each of the guys and remembering incidents around the village? This helps you get through all that grief?”

  “Very much so.” She closed the journal, smoothing her hand across the dark leather that had so many scratches and such wear on its surface. “I find that when I have the nightmare about the ambush, I can look through my journal and cry. But it’s a release, Garret. I remember our good times, the laughter and the jokes we played on one another. I can cry and feel relief and better afterward.”

  “Do you find that working through your grief in that way makes it easier over time? Like our nightmares lose some of their intensity with each dream?”

  Her mouth curved faintly and she gently moved her hands across the journal. “Yes . . . exactly. I’ve always been glad I’ve sketched all the guys. It’s been a very healing journey for me in one way. In another, it’s opened me up and I can’t escape my grief; I have to move through it.” She gave the journal a fond look. “All the pages have tearstains on them.”

  His mouth thinned and he nodded, looked away for a moment.

  Kira saw the pain in Garret’s eyes and knew now that he hadn’t even begun the journey to work through his own grief. It had come up a couple of times at their weekly therapy sessions, and it was then she’d realized the terrible load he still silently carried inside himself. She’d talked to Brook about it, and they’d both agreed that women were far more willing to work through their feelings than any man was. A man had to be dragged kicking and screaming to do the same thing. Garret was no different and her heart twinged with anguish for him, understanding the heaviness he must be carrying within him.

  “We need to put up a Christmas tree,” Garret said, wanting to get to a safer topic.

  “I’d like that.”

  “How about today? We can go out and find one. I’ll chop it down and we’ll bring it back here and decorate it.”

  “I don’t have any decorations. Do you, Garret?”

  Shrugging, he said, “No, but we can make do with what we have. There are cranberries in the fridge. We can make popcorn and string it.” He gave her an amused look. “You could draw some decorations with your colored pencils and we could hang them. What do you say?”

  She smiled and thought about it, seeing the life come back to his hazel eyes. “Sure. Because I don’t want to spend my hard-earned money on holiday decorations right now.”

  He grunted, finished off his tea and stood. “Sounds good to me. Why don’t we hit the rack? Get some sleep? After you feed Crawford his breakfast and we eat, we’ll go find a nice little tree.”

  “I’d love that,” Kira said softly, suddenly emotional.

  * * *

  Kira tripped and fell in a snowbank as she helped Garret drag the five-foot blue spruce through the knee-deep snow. There was a cloudy, gunmetal-gray sky above them, a few snowflakes still twirling around them. Garret had found a hill not far from the main ranch that was covered with evergreens of all widths and heights.

  Last week Reese and Shay had gone out to find their own tree. They’d invited everyone in to decorate and had a wonderful evening doing it. Maybe Kira shouldn’t be glad, but Ray hadn’t wanted to take part in the decorating, even though he’d been invited. He hated Christmas, he’d told her. Didn’t like it at all. That had been fine with all of them, and Kira had loved the evening spent trimming the huge, seven-foot-tall Scotch pine Shay had chosen.

  The snow flew up around her and she closed her eyes, flakes on her lashes, as she turned over on her back. Opening her eyes, she saw Garret leaning over, extending his gloved hand toward her, concerned. She laughed. “I’m okay. I tripped over my own feet!” and she gripped his hand. He pulled her gently to her feet.

  “You look like a snow woman,” he chuckled, releasing her hand, moving his fingers through her hair, brushing the snow from the black strands.

  His touch was galvanizing and Kira absorbed his closeness, secretly taking in his strength, his height, his masculinity. His fingertips grazed her cheek and she looked up into his eyes. And she was lost. His hand stilled against her cheek, their breath white vapor as they stood so close to each other. He was going to kiss her.

  It was as if the cry of the nearby chickadees in the trees was turned down in volume. The stillness of the snow on the tree-clad hill embracing them. The look in Garret’s eyes, the narrowing of them upon her making her heart suddenly race. Her hand had a mind of its own as she hesitantly placed it against his massive chest. Garret wore his Stetson and he leaned down, cupping her jaw, holding her gently in place as he lowered his mouth near hers.

  Her breath hitched as she felt the warm moisture of his breath against her face, holding the burning, intense look in his eyes, feeling her body begin to tremble with such need that it made her want to cry out for Garret. Her fingers dug into his Sherpa jacket and she fractionally leaned up, her mouth barely grazing his.

  It was enough. Just enough. Her eyes shuttered as she felt him respond, felt his mouth curve tentatively against her own. This time the kiss wasn’t primal or wild. It was, instead, asking her for permission. Asking to allow him to kiss her more deeply. Oh yes!

  Kira leaned into him, sealed her lips more strongly against his, letting Garret know she wanted this kiss, too. It wasn’t one-sided at all. She heard a growl of pleasure rumble deep in his chest as she felt his arm come around her shoulders, drawing her slowly against him, allowing her time to decide whether or not she wanted this kind of closeness with him. Kira took that half step toward Garret, his arms opening to her. She wanted nothing else but to have this man kiss her once more. She’d loved dreaming about this ever since his first kiss. Now . . . a second kiss, and a liquid pool of heat began to ache in her lower body.

  Garret eased from her lips, whispering her name against them, one hand cupping her cheek, holding her at just the right angle so he could caress her wet lips and savor them. She raised her hand and rested it against his chest, becoming lost in the melting movement of his exploring mouth against hers.

  This kiss was so different: tentative, searching, silently asking how far she wanted to go with him. Hot tears stung her closed eyes as she, in some small, functioning part of her brain, realized Garret was testing her, seeing just what exactly she wanted to share with him. She could feel him anchor himself, hold himself in check as her mouth opened further, like a flower blooming beneath his. There was such tenderness in his kiss this time that she couldn’t control the tears that slid silently down her cheeks. She felt their warmth meld where their mouths were fused together. She felt Garret’s love so powerfully just in the way he kissed her. It was a kiss of hello, of searching and finding a like heart within her.

  Slowly, so slowly, Garret eased from her wet lips. He barely opened his eyes, feeling his entire lower body burning with unquenched need for Kira. Her thick lashes lifted, revealing drowsy eyes awash with arousal, and it made him want her even more.

  Gently, he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He didn’t know why she was crying, but it affected him deeply, tearing him up because their kiss had been so fragile and beautiful. And when he grazed her red knit cap with his gloved hand, she managed a small smile, drowning in his gaze. He reveled in her hands against his chest, and even though there were so many layers of clothing between them, his skin smarted and wanted more of her touch.

  “I like what we have,” he told her gruffly, holding her in his arms. “I like where we’re going with each other, Kira,” and he wondered if she felt the same. Dark strands of her hair, dampened by the snow, curved around his hand. He saw her eyes widen slightly, heard a small gasp
escape her. Was that a good sign or not? He didn’t know. Garret waited because he couldn’t do anything else. He felt as if the world had gone away, that they were the only two people on the earth right then. And Kira was in his embrace, her slender body resting fully against his. He wondered if she could feel his erection; he’d never wanted to bury himself in a woman as much as he did her. Kira had to know, now, that he wanted her. She wasn’t innocent. She knew about relationships.

  “Garret,” she began, her voice barely a whisper, “I-I don’t know where this is going,” and she gave him a helpless look filled with confusion.

  His mouth curved a little. “I don’t either, Kira, but I like it. I like you. I want to continue to explore what we have.” Again, he saw the fear in her eyes. It was real. And it was there. “We’ll take it slow,” he promised her thickly, taking those wet strands and pushing them behind her ears. “At the pace you want. No pressure, Kira. Okay?” Because he had to say something; it was time. Garret felt as if he were standing on the end of a plank that might give way beneath him. There was surprise in her expression, but also a hunger that was easy to read. At no point had Kira drawn away from him or asked to be released by him.

  “Y-yes, I need to know that, Garret. I need time . . .”

  He gave her a warm look, caressing her cheeks with the thumbs of his gloves. “Tell me what your tears were all about.”

  His deep voice moved through her, she closed her eyes and a huge well of old feelings bubbled through her. Garret deserved her courage, not her cowardice. Opening them, she held his green-and-gold gaze, his expression so serious. “Your kiss was so beautiful . . . so . . . caring. It made me cry.” She saw all the worry dissolve on his rugged face, saw it replaced with something that made her swiftly beating heart sing. His beautiful mouth, so male and strong, lifted at the corners.

  “That’s good, then?”