How to Handle a Cowboy
Page 28
And his body? It was a thing of beauty on solid earth, but on horseback, he moved with a grace that seemed almost supernatural, rocking in rhythm with the horse and controlling the animal with the slightest shift of his weight, the faintest tightening of the reins, or an almost imperceptible nudge of his heels.
At first, she worried she’d need to perform similar feats of control on her own horse, but it didn’t take her long to figure out that Dusty would simply follow Spiff wherever he went. It was a relief to know she didn’t have to learn any of those subtleties, but watching Ridge made her want to learn. She’d love to be able to befriend these huge, gentle creatures, to move in sync with them through this wide-open land.
“Where are we going?” she called to him.
“You’ll see,” he said. “You’ll like it. It’s magic.”
Sierra almost groaned. As far as she could see, everywhere Ridge went turned into magic—the barn, the bedroom, and now this shining landscape. She was almost afraid to follow, but what could she do?
It was all Dusty’s fault.
Chapter 43
Ridge was pleasantly surprised with Sierra’s riding ability when they set off down the trail that bordered the tree line to the south of the ranch. She might not have much experience, but at least she didn’t jerk on the reins or kick the horse too hard. If anything, she was a little too timid in her cues, and Dusty took full advantage, pausing along the trail to snatch up occasional bites of grass. It took a couple of sharp words from Ridge to make him straighten up and behave himself.
As they entered the timbered area beyond the pastures, the constant wind that whipped Wyoming’s open spaces died down to a gentle rustling of the trees. The trees were so dense that they blocked the light, creating a forest surprisingly devoid of undergrowth. Only the trail was open to the light, so flowers and ferns flanked it like a deliberately planted border.
Sunlight filtered through the regal tops of the trees, creating an ever-changing kaleidoscope of bright light and dark. This had always been a magical path to Ridge, and he turned in the saddle to see how it affected Sierra.
She was leaning back in the saddle with both hands on the horn, her head thrown back and her eyes dreamily scanning the treetops. He couldn’t say much for her riding form, but at least the beauty of the scene wasn’t wasted on her. It was a good thing he’d given her a gentle mount. Otherwise, she’d be staring at the tops of the trees from the middle of the trail, where she’d be lying on her back.
He couldn’t blame her for mooning over the scenery. The majesty of the tall trees looming over the narrow trail was a reminder of how big the world was and how small human beings were. Yet God took the time to touch every detail along the everyday path, leaving little hints of grace all along the rugged road.
The trail started to descend, and he turned to make sure she’d awoken from her daydream and was paying attention to the trail. As they rode, the chatter of birdsong was punctuated by the sharp cries of jays and crows. Another sound floated toward them on the wind—a faint metallic tinkling.
“What’s that?” Sierra asked.
“You’ll see.”
As they rode on, the trail opened slowly to the sky. Dark pines petered out and were replaced by golden aspen with pale, graceful trunks and bright leaves that shimmered in the sunlight. The metallic sound grew louder, making it seem as if the leaves of the trees were actually forged of gold.
As they entered a small round clearing, the wind rose and the sound lifted with it like the ringing of a thousand tiny bells. Ridge knew where the sound came from, and he wasn’t given to flights of fancy. Yet even his practical mind conjured up a fairy court every time he heard it.
The wonder on Sierra’s face told him she’d come up with an equally fanciful explanation. Gradually, as she looked around and spotted the tiny metal ornaments glittering in the trees, comprehension dawned on her face. But she was still struck with wonder at the strangeness of it.
He’d never shared this place with anyone but his family. Not even Shelley had seen it. It was a family secret, but looking at Sierra’s face, he knew he’d made the right choice.
“Who did this?” She slid from the saddle and gazed wonderingly around. The surrounding trees were hung with every sort of wind chime, from cheap dime-store novelties to pricey bronze tubes, from mass-produced gift-shop treasures to unique works of art. Most were corroded, some tangled, but the sound was pure magic.
“It was Irene’s,” he said. “We call it the Chime Grove.”
As always, he felt as if Irene herself was there, enjoying her creation. “She loved this spot. Dad brought her here when they were first married, and he gave her a wind chime for a gift. He thought she’d bring it home, but it sounded so perfect right here that she hung it in one of the trees.”
“It does sound perfect.” Sierra slung Dusty’s reins over a branch and wandered around the small circle, reaching up to stroke the little noisemakers as she spotted them among the leaves. “There must be a hundred of them.”
“Close,” Ridge said. “Every Christmas and birthday, Dad would give her another one. And us boys would pick them up too. Once we got older and started traveling with the rodeo, we bought one everywhere we went.”
“That’s so sweet.” She fingered a worn gold-plated bucking horse silhouette with chimes hanging from its feet. A weight at the bottom was marked “Rapid City 2010.” As she let it go, the chimes tinkled in tinny harmony with the rest. “She’s been gone a long time, right?”
He nodded.
“But you still buy them.”
He nodded again then dismounted and led Spiff around a little, as if he needed to find just the right spot to leave him. The truth was, all he had to do was drop the reins and Spiff would stay put. But the conversation was straying dangerously close to emotional territory, and he preferred messing with the horse to looking Sierra in the eye.
Because this was the one place he’d ever allowed himself to cry. After Irene passed, he’d come here often to grieve. He often thought he wouldn’t trade his two years with Irene for a lifetime with any other mother. Still, it seemed unfair she’d been taken so soon after he and his brothers had found her.
“We still buy them,” he said. “Still put ’em up.”
Sierra strolled around the periphery of the grove, her steps light, her fingers gently stroking the branches to make the ornaments chime. As she completed the circle, she came to a stop in front of him. With every chime in the circle ringing, she seemed like some elfin princess who’d called up magic with the touch of her fingers.
“Do you think she’s still here?”
Gazing up at the sky, so blue beyond the gold of the leaves, he searched for the truth. “I think she’s here in our heads. Whenever I have a question or a problem, I come here and feel her presence. Somehow, I know what answer she’d give. Sometimes it’s advice; other times, it’s just a kick in the patootie.”
Sierra laughed.
“Her words, not mine,” Ridge said ruefully. “We keep this place for her, and she’s here when we need her. But she knows when we come here just to be alone.”
The magic held. Sierra didn’t balk as he took her in his arms, didn’t pull away as he kissed her. And she didn’t stop him when he moved his hands over her body.
He broke the kiss reluctantly to return to Spiff. Quickly untying a few knots, he pulled out a blanket that had been rolled up and nestled under the cantle of his saddle. With a flourish, he shook it out, letting it flutter to rest in the soft grass in the center of the clearing.
And then, without a word, he swept Sierra into his arms and laid her gently on the blanket.
***
Sierra loved Ridge’s strength, loved the feeling of being picked up and swept away, carried off to his grassy bower. But she knew, deep down, that making love with him again would strengthen the bond between them to the point where it wouldn’t break. She’d leave here at the end of her contract. That was a hard, cold fact. But
maybe it wouldn’t be good-bye forever.
He was right. There were no guarantees in life. And that meant anything could change, at any time.
In the meantime, she’d enjoy what she had. The kind of love they shared wasn’t something to be smothered in fear. It was something to be celebrated.
She kept her arms laced around his neck, so he had to drop down into the grass with her. She’d noticed eye contact was hard for him. He’d even avoided it just now, when they were talking about Irene. He was probably worried she wouldn’t want to have sex if she thought his mother was watching.
The thought made her smile, but she swallowed the laugh and kept her eyes on Ridge’s.
This time, he looked back. It was a look that told her he was giving her everything he had—or at least, everything he could. After a childhood like his, she understood there were memories that were hard to share. But the way he looked back at her, honestly and without reservations, told her he’d trust her with them someday if she stuck around to listen.
Sitting up, she smiled at him then bit her lower lip, wondering how to start. She’d never been the kind of girl who had sex outdoors, but the occasion seemed to call for a brazen attitude, a wantonness beyond what was usual.
It didn’t take her long to make up her mind. Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. Then, rising to her knees, she peeled off her jeans. She had to sit back down and kick up her heels to finish the job—which included kicking off her flower-bedecked cowboy boots.
Even on the worst days—especially on the worst days—Sierra wore beautiful underthings. Pretty bras and panties were her little secret. Now Ridge was in on today’s secret, which was a pink satin bra decorated with off-white lace that traced the edges of the bra and the waistline of the panties. The outfit wasn’t immodest; in fact, it looked like something that might have been in some ladies’ trousseau in a steamer trunk bound for the Continent.
But Ridge didn’t seem to mind the fact that it was old-fashioned or even that it covered most of her breasts. He was still struck speechless.
She had to admit that if she’d known she’d spend part of her day naked in an aspen grove, this was the outfit she would have chosen. The pink contrasted with the golden leaves and yellow grass, and the smooth satin was a nice contrast to the slightly scratchy green blanket Ridge had provided. It was apparently wool.
“What is this, army issue 1942?” she asked.
He flushed. “It’s all I could find that was clean. We used it camping.” His brow furrowed. “We could go back to the house if you’d rather. I know it’s not…”
She stopped his apology with a kiss. “This is perfect, Ridge. Perfect.”
Chapter 44
The aspen grove really was the most perfect spot Sierra had ever seen—especially for a lovers’ tryst. The little wind chimes danced in the wind all around her and Ridge, creating a curtain of sound that seemed to shut out the rest of the world. As he kissed her, one of the straps of her bra slid off her shoulder. Part of the cup peeled away with it, revealing one pink nipple that was obviously aching for his touch.
She didn’t make any effort to cover up, so Ridge took full advantage of the situation, peeling the strap away from her other shoulder. Ducking his head, he licked and sucked at each swollen nipple in turn while his fingers squeezed and stroked. Sierra’s breath came fast and hard, and when he moved his hand down to trace the edge of her panties, she gasped and squirmed, hiking her hips up to let him know she wanted more. More? She wanted everything.
“No rush,” he murmured. “No hurry. Let’s take our time.”
That was easy for him to say. He was the one with his clothes on.
She reached up to rectify that situation, but he pulled her hand away.
“This is about you,” he said. “I can wait.”
“I’m glad somebody can,” she said with a gasp as the back of his hand brushed the tip of one breast.
He kept playing, kept touching until it was almost a torment, and then, finally, he slipped his hand inside her panties and found the hot, wet welcome waiting for him.
Maybe now he’d get the message.
But no, he was still sweeping his fingers over her skin, sliding up and around her curves, skimming over her ribs and belly, alternating between sweet torture for her breasts and then her sex, and each one ached for him as the other reveled in his touch.
If he’d ever had any doubt as to how much she wanted him, those days were over now. She found herself twisting her body to reach his hands, moaning as he caressed her breasts, and then she was clutching the blanket in her fists while he stroked between her legs, and oh yes, this was a man who knew what he was doing. She supposed some women might wonder where he’d learned it, but she didn’t care. Their life together began when they met that day in the closet, and anything that happened before that was just preparing them for this moment.
His fingers slid inside her and found some magical place that seemed to render her boneless in an instant. And then he was kneeling between her legs, and then she was bucking and moaning, almost weeping with the wonder of it. The stroking of his fingers, the touch of his lips, and the talents of her tongue were going to drive her over the edge.
Just then, she found it—the edge, and she slipped over it, and there in the middle of the woods, to the music of a hundred tiny chimes, she rose and rose and then crashed in an orgasm so wild she thought she’d rise up into the trees and hover there, happy and sated forever, floating on the gossamer wings of something that sure felt a lot like love.
***
Sierra in the throes of lovemaking was the most beautiful thing Ridge had ever seen. He’d always dreamed of bringing a woman here, into this magical space, and now he lay beside the one he’d chosen, the one woman in all the world he knew he could love, and looked up at the sky. The aspens seemed to lean inward, almost as if they were protecting them, and the golden leaves shimmered like old-fashioned pirate coins dangling from the supple branches.
Her breathing slowed and she squeezed his hand, letting him know she was back in the real world.
“It’s like they’re protecting us,” she said, looking up at the trees. “The trees, the way they lean in. They make it feel safe.”
“It is safe.” He pulled her close, and she propped her head up on one elbow. One hand nested in her hair; the other one busied itself unbuttoning his shirt, and this time he didn’t mind.
He didn’t mind one bit.
Once the two of them were naked, he sat up and grabbed his jeans, flipping through his wallet to find a condom. As he put it on, he watched Sierra stretch and stare up at the sky. When she turned back to him, her smile was almost wicked.
“You ready?” she asked.
“Do I look ready?”
She laughed. “Maybe the question I should ask is ‘are you willing?’ Because you’ve been ready for a while.”
“It feels like I’ve been ready ever since we met.”
“Well, I would have been a little taken aback if you’d tried this in the closet.”
“I know,” he said. “But I was never so grateful for an electrical outage in my life.”
She laughed, and he kissed her, and then their bodies were writhing together under the sun. He fitted himself to her, and though it was nearly impossible, he held back, stroking slow and easy, giving her the full length of him in a push and then easing out, only to push again.
She was with him all the way, wild for him in a way he’d never experienced before. He did all right with women—he had enough experience to know that—but Sierra wanted him in a new way. It was as if she needed him, as if she were starving and he was the one thing that could sate her hunger.
She stroked his back and rocked him with her hips then whispered in his ear, “I want to be on top.”
She rolled with him as he moved, and somehow, without the usual awkwardness, they’d managed to flip her to the top without pausing in their lovemaking.
She kissed him, and when she sat back up, he rose with her without breaking the kiss. Face to face, they fell back into her rhythm of rising and falling, rising and falling. Then the kiss broke, and they were looking each other straight in the eye while the sensations intensified. He was slowly losing his mind, or at least his ability to think, and he suspected she was too. But they never lost eye contact.
It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Usually he’d closed his eyes or turned his head or somehow evaded sharing this—his thoughts, his emotions, the overwhelming passion he felt for this woman and she for him.
He’d always used sex to stave off feeling rather than to share it. Oh, he’d shared sensation and pleasure, even desire. But never love.
With Sierra, it was different. There were no barriers between them as her gaze grew hotter and hotter, and finally she arched back and came, crying out to the sky. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—but he only saw a second of it because then he too was suddenly in a world of swirling sensation that made him shout with joy so loudly that the birds stopped singing.
They lay side by side in the sudden silence, their fingers linked together, their hips touching. Filtered by the aspen leaves, the sun cast a golden glow over Sierra’s pale skin, making the shadows of leaves and branches dance and chase each other over her curves. He wished he had the time to follow every one of those shadows with his fingertips, stroking her body the way the shadows did.
Maybe he did have time.
Maybe he had a lifetime.