Lane stretched back, drawing in a deep breath as he looked up. The dark sky, studded with a million stars comforted him. He remembered it well from his youth, and it was the same sky you could see some nights in the Middle East, when it wasn’t filled with gunfire or smoke. It had been the one thing that settled him, being able to see that sky. No, he wasn’t interested in the dance hall or Danny’s, the one bar in town. He was in just about exactly the most perfect place he could think of; under this blanket of stars with Miranda Davenport sitting so close he could almost feel the heat radiating from her. The night had begun to cool, Kit was sprawled out on the porch in front of them, on her side snoring lightly, and without thinking about it, Lane slid his arm over the back of the bench and pulled Miranda toward him. There, now it was exactly perfect.
“Nah, this is pretty much everything I need.”
She softened into his side; a pleasant surprise he would never have laid money on—she’d changed in so many ways. She smelled of honeysuckle and citrus, a refreshing, light scent—one she’d always had. Apparently some things didn’t change. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head right about the same time she shifted, and her outside hand slid over the thigh of his jeans. It was a comfortable pose, one they’d sat in lots of times. Because their bodies just fit together this way. Because it felt good to hold her. Because Miranda barely had to make a move from here and he was turned on.
And because she’d made the move, he felt brave enough to curl his arm, drawing her tighter against him, angling his body so his free hand came to rest on her waist, finding the warmth of her skin just above the line of the jeans she wore. That soft, secret spot was his favorite, allowing a skin-to-skin connection that looked innocent but felt sinful—and he knew it turned her on, too. Her head tipped up, her eyes soft and warm when they met his, and he could have lost himself in their depths. He was transported to ten years ago; before she’d turned him down, before he’d seen horrors in the Middle East, when they were just a pair of kids who spent as much time as they could touching and tasting and exploring. It felt like the most natural thing to do to lower his head and brush his lips across hers. Lightly, tentatively, asking permission to take more. When he pulled back for her response, she chased his mouth, pushing up against him to take for herself, licking her way into his mouth. And then there wasn’t any more asking, because he was taking, and so was she, and the years and hurt feelings between them melted away.
She tasted the way he remembered—but with a smoky, raw edge he could only attribute to the time they’d spent apart and the way she’d grown as a person. And she responded the way he remembered too, pushing up toward him, her fingers moving from his jeans to the front of his shirt, gathering the fabric and tugging him toward her. She knew what she wanted and she wasn’t afraid to take it—it was something he’d always admired about her. Even when it meant she was turning him down to take something she wanted more than she wanted him. Her small, warm hand slipped under the fabric of his shirt, her fingers curling across his abdomen as he shifted, looking for more contact, and delved into her mouth.
He hadn’t come to Three Rivers looking to rekindle what he’d had with Miranda so long ago, but as their bodies slipped into that age old dance so easily, it was as if none of the time had passed. And he felt just as green as he’d been at 22 when she tucked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. It had been long enough since anyone had touched him at all, never mind someone he wanted as badly as he wanted Miranda.
~
Miranda was breathing like she’d been running a marathon when Lane pulled away, and her heart pounded like it, too. She nearly groaned aloud. She hadn’t come here for this, but it was easy, so easy, to slide back into it. And it felt good, too. From the masterful way he claimed her mouth to the calloused fingertips stroking the ticklish spot on her waist just above her hip.
The problem was now he was looking at her like he was about to turn her down. He had every right to. But she didn’t want that, so she turned her keen gaze up to him, tucking her wet lower lip into her teeth, and without breaking the eye contact, she slipped her thumb under the button of his jeans, flicking it open with such ease she even surprised herself.
“Miranda.”
“I want to.”
Lane let out a breath that sounded like God give me patience, and took his hand off her waist, cupping the back of her head and resting his forehead against hers.
“You’ve been drinking. And so have I.”
“And yet you have enough clarity to tell me that.”
He was right, though. Without a few beers in her, she might not have been so eager to get into his pants. It was noble, turning her down, right now, anyway. And she couldn’t fault him. Even if her body was protesting.
Lane smiled a little, squeezing the back of her neck lightly before he shifted back to press a kiss to her forehead.
“But not enough to drive you home. And you certainly don’t, either. I’d offer to walk, but it’s pretty late and I’m not sure I’d make it back here before falling asleep in the bushes.”
“There aren’t any cab companies in Three Rivers,” she said with a little smile. Apart from falling asleep in the bed of his pickup with a bunch of blankets, they’d never spent a whole night together. Not when she was still so young and her parents so watchful. If they’d even known half of the stuff that had happened between her and Lane, she was sure they would have put a stop to it. “Are you asking me to stay over, Lane Sutton?”
He paused thoughtfully, then shifted, putting space between them that left her feeling a bit cold.
“The couch is pretty damn comfortable.”
Right. The couch. She’d been about to put her hand in his pants and he was going to make her sleep on the couch. She raised a brow but then shrugged, shaking her head. “All right. Couch it is.”
He got up carefully, holding a hand out to her, and then led her inside where he made quick work of making up a bed on the couch. From her spot perched on the edge of the coffee table, she watched him tighten up the corners of the sheets around the cushions of the pillow; he was probably punishing her for what she did to him all those years ago. But then he turned, taking her hand and helping her up, and when she stood, he cupped the back of her head again, giving her the most gentle, tender kiss that she didn’t deserve. A kiss that had her fingers curled in the front of his shirt again, a soft sigh coming off her lips when he broke away.
“Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, then disappeared into his bedroom with Kit.
—SIX—
Lane woke in the wee hours of the morning with Kit’s panting body pressed against his. He couldn’t quite remember the details of the dream this time, or how far it had gotten, but he was soaked in sweat and that was all he needed to know he’d been in Kandahar in his dreams. He swallowed hard and reached out to stroke the dog’s ears, working to calm his heart rate and breathing before he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed like he did every other time the dream woke him.
Only this time, he was acutely aware of another body in the house. It took him a minute to remember…everything, but when he did, he rubbed a hand over his face.
Miranda all soft and sweet and willing. Miranda with her hands halfway down his jeans. He figured it was miraculous that she hadn’t slapped him when he’d first kissed her; even more miraculous that he’d managed to sidestep the temptation to just take her on that bench out front. It was because of this very thing, the thing that had him sweat-soaked and shaking, that he’d put the brakes on. She was so much better than she’d been—stronger, braver, more sure of herself—she’d grown, and he’d regressed. And if he’d taken her to bed, she’d have stayed the night, and then she would have discovered the truth.
In just his boxers, he slipped out of his room and to the kitchen for a glass of water. Though her form was quiet and still on the couch, Kit made a beeline for it. He hissed her name and snapped his fingers, but not before she
shoved her cold, wet, nose against Miranda’s. Damnit. She jerked, and Lane crossed the floor in a couple short strides to grab Kit’s collar and pull her away.
“Hey,” he whispered into the quiet.
“Is everything okay?” Miranda shifted, rubbing a hand over her face. “What time is it?”
“About five…everything’s fine.”
“What are you doing up?”
“The military pounds this one into you,” he said with what he hoped was a convincing smile, settling on the edge of the coffee table where she’d perched to watch him make the bed up for her the night before. He offered her his glass of water. Her hair was mussed and she had a wrinkle on her cheek from the pillow that was so deep he could see it in the early morning light. “I’m usually up at this time.”
“Gross,” she said with a groan, propping herself up to take a sip of his water. “Every morning?”
He nodded, “Every morning. Sorry about Kit, she’s not used to house guests. I didn’t mean for us to wake you.”
She struggled into a more upright position, blinking like she was trying to wake up. That hadn’t been his intention. He held out a hand to stop her. “Go back to sleep, I won’t bother you. Or…we can trade? You can go into the bedroom and I’ll stay out here. There’s no need for you to get up just because I am.”
Miranda grimaced. “I’m up. Sometimes I have kids waking me up at this time with nightmares.”
Not all that different, Lane thought. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I usually end up with someone extra in my bed at that point. But I don’t usually go back to sleep.”
“What if I told you I had a nightmare?” His tone was half teasing, but he watched for her reaction.
She raised a brow, looking down at her legs stretched out on the small couch.
“Definitely only enough room for one.”
Lane grinned and got to his feet. “Well, if we’re up for the day, can I get you some coffee?”
“That would be great.”
Lane prepared the coffee while Miranda got up and straightened herself up, and before long, the three of them had settled onto the front porch to watch the sunrise. He’d known Three Rivers would be good for him, and maybe even if it wasn’t exactly perfect, the sun rising over a ranch he owned and a good woman to share it with was exactly what he needed.
—SEVEN—
Lane shifted his truck into park in front of Larry Morgan’s law office. It was the only one in town, and Larry had been the only person his granddad trusted with his affairs. When the lawyer first contacted Lane to let him know about the inheritance, he’d given him the go-ahead to move onto the ranch and told him once he got settled, they could cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s. He could only presume that was what yesterday’s call was about. He’d never been a fan of lawyers, and he’d never met this one in person, but he trusted his grandfather’s judgment when it came to this type of thing.
A welcome rush of cool air from a window air conditioning unit hit him as he pushed open the door to the dark office. The waiting room was small, furnished with a couple of simple chairs and a big oak desk in the corner, behind which a tidy woman roughly his own age smiled up at him.
“Lane Sutton for Larry Morgan.”
“Oh, go right in, Lane. He’s been waiting. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, thank you,” he said, heading for the door she’d pointed out.
The inner sanctum of the office was even cooler. A short, round man with glasses and a pinstriped shirt with the sleeves rolled up rose from behind the enormous, paper-covered desk to extend his hand.
“Mr. Sutton, it’s good to meet you.”
“Oh, please call me Lane. And it’s good to finally meet you, too.”
“You must be very pleased to be back at Lone Oak, Lane.”
He nodded—pleased was an understatement. Things were going great. He’d made a deal with the Baylors on a couple of pregnant broodmares and two riding horses—he’d initially only wanted one, but since Miranda was around and she didn’t hate him, he’d opted for a second. Just in case. Andersons were selling off a couple head of cattle he’d spoken for, and the ranch was starting to feel like home. Especially waking up with Miranda there. So she wasn’t in his bed where she belonged, but it was a close second to have gotten to spend the morning with her.
“I’m a lucky man, what can I say?”
“That you are. I’ve heard you’re making some headway in restoration, so I don’t want to keep you long, but we do have some things to clear up.” Morgan slid a sealed letter envelope across the table toward him. Lane recognized his name written on the front in his grandfather’s barely legible scrawl. This personalized bit of paper made him ache to go back in time a few years so he could have spent more time with Jack. He would rather have squirreled this small piece of his granddad back to Lone Oak and read it on his own but when he looked up, Morgan was watching him expectantly, so he slid his finger under the flap and pulled out the contents.
Lane,
I couldn’t think of anyone who deserved Lone Oak more than you…until Miranda came along and started talking about her children’s camp and the land she would need to do it. I know the two of you haven’t always seen eye to eye, especially as of late, but it’s worth it to explore a way that she can enjoy the riches of the ranch as well.
I wouldn’t expect you to just give her your childhood dream, but I think you’re a smart enough boy to know the best way this will work. Ask her again, and see what happens. The two of you have always made a great team. And you’re a good person, Lane. You deserve to settle down with something that will sustain you.
Larry has the paperwork. No complaining.
Love you,
Granddad
Lane stared at the letter for a moment, measuring each breath. He wanted to laugh and swear at the same time. Of course it would be too easy to just come home to Three Rivers to settle down and grapple with his demons. Of course his granddad was meddling from the other side of the grave. When he’d bought the ring for Miranda ten years ago, Jack had been the only one he’d let in on his plan. His grandfather had looked as happy as if Lane had handed him a million dollars free and clear. And he’d been equally perplexed when she’d turned him down.
When he’d felt Morgan’s eyes on him long enough, Lane pressed his lips together and looked up. His grandfather couldn’t possibly be serious.
“So…what’s the deal?” he asked, even though he had a feeling he really didn’t want to know.
The lawyer slid three separate documents across the table to him. One was a lease with today’s date made out to Lane, from the estate of Jack Sutton. A lease. A sick feeling grew in the pit of Lane’s stomach. The next document was a land title transfer made out to Lane and Miranda Sutton, with the date left open. The third made Lane jump to his feet.
“So she gets the ranch next year?”
Larry Morgan jolted when Lane got up, shifted in his seat, visibly swallowed, and then nodded.
“You have a lease for exactly twelve months. If you don’t marry within a year, Miranda Davenport gets the ranch. If you do marry, the two of you become owners immediately.”
“This is bullshit,” Lane said forcefully, jabbing his finger at the transfer with Miranda’s name on it alone. “Complete bullshit.”
“It’s what Jack wanted.”
“He has no right.” Pacing a couple steps away from the desk, Lane turned to find Morgan leaning forward at his desk with his fingers steepled over the documents, having regained his cool.
“With all due respect, Mr. Sutton—Lane—it was your grandfather’s property to begin with, and he had every right to do with it what he wished. Now, if you’ll sign the lease, we can get started.”
He wanted to turn and walk out of the office, but common sense told him that if he was going to lose Lone Oak anyway, he could at least spend a year saying goodbye to it. Something was better than nothing. He just couldn’t build any con
crete plans for the next year, which meant he’d either have to go back on his word to the Baylors and the Andersons, or forge ahead under the assumption that he could make this work somehow. The chemistry and friendship between him and Miranda now that they were in the same town again was obvious. But she’d turned him down once, he had no doubt she’d do it again without blinking an eye. Drawing a deep breath, he took the pen the other man offered him and scrawled his name on the lease.
“Thank you for cooperating,” Morgan said with relief written all over his face. Jack had probably warned him that he’d be upset, but Lane figured he’d showed a pretty impressive amount of restraint when all he really wanted to do was knock every picture frame off the wall and storm out.
“Not that I had much choice,” Lane muttered.
“Even so.” Larry maintained his cool, rising from behind his desk and offering his hand to Lane, who shook it grudgingly.
“I’ll see you in a year. Or sooner.”
“We’ll see,” Lane said, turning on his heel and leaving the office.
—EIGHT—
“So how was the meeting with the lawyer?” Miranda asked, bending to pick up Kit’s tennis ball and throw it again. Since their French kiss this morning, they’d become best buddies.
When Lane didn’t answer right away, she glanced up to find him looking in the other direction. He’d been distracted since he’d called her to come have dinner—basic burgers on the front porch grill, but combined with the bacon and eggs he’d cooked her that morning, proof that the only one stopping him from having a homemade meal was himself.
“Hmm?” she prompted.
“It was okay,” he said, finally glancing back at her with a shrug.
A Cowboy SEAL's Bride Page 3
