A Kiss in the Sunlight

by Marie Patrick

  And if they were loyal to him, he was even more so toward them. She understood, but it didn’t help her. How could she prove to her father that she could do this job if she couldn’t get anyone to tell her what happened?

  Time was running out. It wouldn’t be much longer before Magnus learned she wasn’t with her friends at their ranch outside Santa Barbara. She didn’t look forward to the repercussions from that.

  She rested her chin in her hand and tried to remember the newspaper articles she’d read in the past, the ones that described the shoot-out and came to the stunning realization that she couldn’t recall the name of a single person who’d given an eyewitness account. Yes, the names of the dead were given―the townspeople as well as the outlaws―but the narratives of what had happened were all eerily similar.

  Facing the same sort of problem she was, had those reporters written about what they thought happened or had they taken one account and just, perhaps not plagiarized it, but made it their own? It happened, she supposed, but shouldn’t.

  There was only one thing to do. Get Teague to tell her what transpired himself. He’d denied her request once, and she hadn’t asked a second time because she’d been afraid of his reaction, though she was certain he knew she was still working on the article. He never asked how she was progressing, and she never offered.

  Teague MacDermott was a surprise she’d never counted on, and she couldn’t deny her attraction to him or the feelings he evoked in her, but what would happen when the story was finished? Would he be angry? Turn away from her? Regret the time they’d spent together and those kisses in the moonlight? Would he even care when she returned to San Francisco? Or would he be glad to see her go?

  The questions made her heart and her head hurt, but still, she couldn’t give up. The newspaper position was important to her. And despite everything, she wanted it.

  She let out a sigh, placed her typed pages on top of the typewriter, then grunted as she picked it up, brought it back into her room, and put it on the desk under the window. Was it her imagination or was the blasted thing getting heavier?

  She took a big breath then grabbed her belongings from the table and locked her room behind her. On the way down the stairs, she shoved her notebook and several pencils in her satchel, plopped her hat on her head, and strode past Oscar at the registration desk. He nodded in her direction and grinned, but did not stop her to talk.

  She stepped outside, brought the brim of her hat down to shade her eyes, and stepped off the porch of the hotel. She took three or four steps toward the sheriff’s office when she stopped short.

  Something―a vague awareness, perhaps―made her take her gaze from the sidewalk beneath her feet and turn around. She looked toward the school at the north end of town and saw Teague atop his horse—there was no mistaking those broad shoulders and straight back. He stopped in the street at the side of the school and sat there for a moment before turning west and moving off the dirt road that led into town.

  She knew his routine by now, which varied very little. Walk Desi Lyn and the Hanlon children to school, stride through town from one end to the other, stop in his office to check in with Roy, then pick up his horse at Jake’s Livery and head out to the ranches and farms just beyond the town’s border.

  He did that in the morning, before lunch. After lunch, which he’d have at the Prentice, the Carlisle Cottage, or Mrs. Dunleavy’s Home-style Restaurant, he’d sit in his office and complete paperwork. She’d seen him through the window on several occasions. Sometimes, he just sat at his desk, his feet up on the surface, pipe clenched between his teeth, smoke swirling around his head as he read a book. Just before four o’clock, he’d leave the office and walk to the Prentice to meet the stagecoach. On occasion, he’d have a cup of coffee with Krissa and Oscar, then he’d head back to the office for a few more hours before going home.

  She grinned. One could set their watch by him. He was a predictable as the sun rising each morning.

  But today was different. It was after lunch, so why wasn’t he in the office? Where was he going? To his thinking spot at the pool beneath the waterfall? Wherever it was, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Ryleigh lifted her skirts and followed at a quick pace, finding the path he’d taken. Well-worn from time and the many feet that trod over it, the trail twisted and turned around blue spruce and Douglas fir trees, the dirt covered with dried pine needles and pine cones as well as the browned leaves of tall, stately aspen.

  She almost lost him once but caught a glimpse of his red shirt farther along the trail. A smile crossed her lips as she quickened her step and came to a clearing where the river meandered lazily. Several birch and cottonwood trees as well as bushes she couldn’t name at the water’s edge replaced the forest of pine behind her. Sunlight filtered through the overhanging tree limbs and sparkled on the water.

  She slipped behind the trunk of one of the trees and watched him slide from the saddle and tie Valor’s reins to the branch of the huge cottonwood that shaded this particular spot.

  He took a towel from his saddlebag and laid it over a thick limb that had once been part of the tree, but now lay on the ground, the splintered edges charred. He removed his vest then unbuckled his gun belt and placed it next to the towel. The tree limb made for a convenient place to sit, which he did to remove his boots and thick wool socks.

  She suppressed a giggle and tiptoed a little closer, staying hidden behind the growth of bushes as he wiggled his toes in the cool grass. He tucked his socks into his boots then stood and dropped his trousers. He kicked them off and left them where they lay.

  The giggle died in her throat, and her heart, that traitorous organ, began to flutter as he shucked his drawers next. He picked everything up from the ground, revealing muscular thighs and just the bottom of his behind below the tail of his shirt, and folded them carefully then started unbuttoning said shirt. Apparently, he didn’t have the patience to finish and simply pulled the garment over his head. Folding the shirt, he laid it on top of his trousers, then, naked, he strode down the embankment and stopped at the water’s edge, his focus on the shimmering river.

  Ryleigh sucked in her breath. Broad shoulders led down to a slim waist and hips. And his behind? Oh, my! She had admired his backside when it was covered by his trousers, but now? It was even more impressive, and the urge to reach out and smooth her hand over the firm contours gripped her. She’d never seen a naked man before, aside from the statue of David during her travels to Florence. Marble and stone could not prepare her for that sight in the flesh. He was glorious. Perfect.

  A flush of warmth infused her from her toenails to the top of her head then settled in her stomach, spreading outward to encompass her entire body. She should leave. Let him swim in peace, and yet she remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze away from the perfection before her. An idea formed in head, and she suppressed the urge to giggle, lest he hear her.

  • • •

  Teague stood on the edge of the embankment. Sunlight shimmered on the water flowing past him, and for a moment, all he could see was the way Ryleigh’s eyes twinkled. Shaking his head, he forced that vision from his mind, but still, he grinned. He couldn’t help it.

  Private and out of the way, this spot, though deserted now, was popular with the younger people in town and had been for as long as he remembered. He and his brothers swam here throughout their adolescence, as did everyone he grew up with. He still came to it as often as he could during the hot summer months.

  He’d been thinking about taking a dip as soon as the temperature started to rise earlier this morning while he made his daily rounds, though how much of that was the sun and how much was Ryleigh, he didn’t know. In a moment, though, he’d be cooling off everything—his thoughts about her as well as the uncomfortable, rigid arousal those thoughts brought. Why she should affect him this way, he couldn’t begin to understand. Well, yes, he could. She made him feel things he didn’t want to feel, but couldn’t deny.

  May
be it was the sunny smile she always had for him. Or perhaps, her humor.

  Or maybe it was those kisses in the moonlight, right there on the front porch of the Prentice Hotel, in front of God and everyone, not once or twice, but three times.

  He shouldn’t have done it. Dancing with her at the picnic had been a mistake, too, as was taking her out to the ranch, but then, he seemed to be making one error in judgment after another where she was concerned. He found it more and more difficult to resist the urge to touch her, draw her close, and taste her lips again, regardless of the fact that Jeff Logan would be released from prison in a month.

  He liked her. That was the problem. Despite the fact she wanted him to rip out his heart and relive what happened with the Logans, he really did like her. She was a lady, every glorious inch of her, and moved with a certain amount of . . . well, it certainly wasn’t grace and poise. In fact, he’d never met a woman more accident-prone and clumsy in his life, but that made her all the more endearing, especially when she laughed about it.

  Teague grunted as those thoughts flowed through his head, then forced them away again, determined to get Miss Ryleigh Steele out of his mind. At least for a little while.

  He moved forward into the flowing water, sucking in his breath as the coldness of the liquid rose from his feet to his knees then to his thighs. Without waiting to become acclimated, he took another deep breath and dove in, submerging his entire body. He came up for air, sputtering, his hair obscuring his vision for a moment before he swiped it off his forehead, but the shock of the cold water was exactly what he needed.

  He swam, going from one side of the river to the other and back several times until he was out of breath, the tension in his body dissipating with the activity. He turned on his back and floated, letting his mind drift until the serenity of his surroundings was disrupted by the rustling of bushes and the definite sound of coins jingling. Instantly alert, he studied the tree where his clothes were.

  His trousers and undergarments were gone, but everything else was still there, which eased his mind tremendously. A prank. Nothing more. And he knew exactly who could be behind such a joke.

  “Cooter Henry, you drop my clothes and walk away. Don’t be thinkin’ I won’t climb outta here buck ass naked and beat the hell outta you.”

  A giggle met his ears . . . not the donkey braying heehaw of Cooter, but the sweet dulcet tones of none other than Ryleigh Steele. Instantly, that laugh settled in his belly, warming him from the inside out.

  “Have you been following me, Ryleigh?”

  “No, sir. I would never do that.” She stepped out from behind the thick trunk of the tree, his clothes in her hand, and plopped herself down on the branch, despite the fact that the dried, splintering bark would no doubt ruin her dress. Once again, she was wearing the ivory gown with the purple trim and the intriguing row of amethyst buttons. The sight affected him this time just like the last. He envisioned unbuttoning each and every one, slowly, to reveal her soft skin beneath. He shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes as well as the image from his mind and focused his attention on her.

  Ryleigh put his clothes down, then pulled the strap of her leather satchel over her head and proceeded to rummage in the bag. “I have a question,” she said as she dropped the bag on the ground next to the tree limb, a pencil and small pad of paper in her hand. “Did you tell people not to talk to me?” She smiled that dazzling smile, the one that filled him with sunshine and made him forget everything except wanting to get her into bed. Then her question penetrated his brain.

  “What?”

  “It’s a simple question. Did you tell people not to talk to me?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. As far as I know, you’ve talked to everyone in town.”

  “Funny thing about that, Teague. Your friends are very loyal. Yes, I have talked to almost everyone, but not one person has told me anything about what I want to know.” She grinned. “I have a notebook full of stories of your generosity and kindness. I know how you helped Mrs. Trumble start her bakery. She adores you, by the way. I know how you took Cooter Henry under your wing when he was young and heading for trouble. Now, he’s one of your deputies. He adores you, too. I know how you played Cupid for Elizabeth and Josiah as well as Krissa and Oscar, but I still know nothing about that day.” She tilted her head as her gaze swept over him, her eyes beguiling, yet innocent at the same time. “Right now, though, it seems I have a captive audience.” She picked up his trousers and shook them, the coins in the pockets jingling. “Maybe now you’ll tell me what they won’t.”

  Her confession astounded him but shouldn’t have. Yes, his friends were loyal, but he would have thought someone would have told her what she wanted to know. Still, it warmed his heart that after all this time, the people of Paradise Falls respected his privacy and wanted to protect him from the pain reliving that fateful day would bring.

  What surprised him more was the fact that she thought she had him trapped in the water. He couldn’t let that delusion stand. “Is that what you think, Ryleigh? That I’m a captive audience? What makes you think I won’t climb out of the water?”

  That stiffened her spine, but there was definite teasing in her eyes. He’d seen that before, most recently the third time he’d kissed her. “You’re a gentleman,” she said and licked her lips. “And I’m a lady. You wouldn’t risk ruining my tender sensibilities.” She laughed then, a rich, throaty sound that caused his heart to race and his blood to rush to parts that until a moment ago had finally been at rest.

  “Don’t tempt me. I am a man of my word.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of tempting you, Sheriff.” Again, that radiant smile flashed his way.

  “Too late.”

  He saw her inhale, her chest expanding against the amethyst buttons of her dress as he rose from the water and stepped onto the grassy bank. Her eyes opened wide, and her brilliant smile disappeared, replaced with what he assumed was appreciation, as her gaze traveled from his feet to his head, stopped briefly at the scar on his upper arm, then continued back down again, halting below his waist.

  He didn’t alter his pace as he advanced on her, regardless of the fact that he was naked.

  If possible, her eyes opened wider before she jumped up, the pad and pencil falling to the grass from her fingers. His trousers remained in her other hand. Did she forget she was holding them?

  Her throat moved as she swallowed, making the ribbon at the neckline of her gown flutter before her mouth dropped open.

  Teague’s grin widened. He’d bet she didn’t think he would do it, didn’t think he’d leave the relative modesty of the water. She’d been sadly mistaken.

  She tried to take a step back, but the branch was in her way and instead of retreating, she lost her balance and toppled backward, her knees bent over the tree limb.

  “Goodness!” she exclaimed, and then she laughed, obviously unhurt.

  Teague grabbed his towel, wrapped it around his waist and tucked in the corner, though it did nothing to hide his arousal. He placed his hands on his hips as he stood over her and shook his head at her predicament. Her skirts had ridden up to reveal the tops of her boots and the stockings beneath to the purple ribbons at her thighs―and very attractive thighs they were. Pale and soft with just the outline of muscle under her skin that he longed to trail his fingers against. Her hat had come off, too, and her gleaming raven tresses spread out on the soft moss beneath her.

  Roses bloomed on her cheeks, and her indigo eyes glistened, causing him to draw in a shaky breath. She looked entirely too enticing as she raised herself up on one elbow and tried to fix her skirts with her free hand. “Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to help me?”

  Teague shrugged. “I’m not sure. You seem to be at my mercy in your current position. I think I like it.”

  “Teague MacDermott! You wouldn’t―”

  “Oh, but I would.” He had the pleasure of watching color flood her entire face. He stepped closer
, his legs spread on either side of her knees, which were still over the branch. Her mouth fell open even as her eyes widened, and her gaze went from his face to the towel wrapped around his waist.

  “Teague!”

  He laughed at her expression, a combination of mortification, surprise, and desire, then reached for her hands and pulled her to a standing position, drawing her body close even though he knew he was getting her wet. Now that he had her where he wanted her, he wasn’t about to let go despite the fact he knew better. He’d waited too long to have her this close again, and his mouth took possession of hers without asking permission.

  She returned his kiss with enthusiasm, her lips parting beneath his in innocent surrender as her hands snaked around his neck. She pressed closer, seemingly unconcerned that he was naked except for the towel. Or perhaps, she was excited by that knowledge.

  “Ryleigh,” he breathed as he pulled away and smoothed his knuckles against her cheek before dipping his head and tasting her mouth once again. He turned with her in his arms, his mouth never leaving hers as he sat on the branch, bringing her down so she was on his lap, the towel around his hips protecting his skin from the rough bark.

  I shouldn’t be doing this! But even as the warning popped in his head, he wasn’t about to stop. He found her much too impossible to resist. She must have felt the same, because she clung to him, her fingers twisting into his hair, bringing his mouth closer, her body pressed tightly against his, the softness of her breasts crushing against his chest.

  With one arm supporting her back, he deepened the touch of his mouth to hers. She made a small noise in the back of her throat as her hands grasped his head and pulled him closer. Blood rushed through his veins with that sound. The towel covering him was little protection from the weight and warmth of her backside on his lap and the arousal he’d successfully fought against re-emerged, more rigid than before. If she felt his hardness, she didn’t let him know, but he still didn’t want to frighten her.