Bed of Roses (16 page)

They sure did look soft, he thought. Sweet like sugar too, and her breath more than likely still smelled like the lemon tea she’d been drinking when he’d come into her room.

Pink petals. Sugar. Lemon.

What man could resist sampling an exquisite combination like that?

Especially when no other man had ever sampled it.

He bent over her, and when his hair fell over her graceful shoulder, he waited to see if she would awaken.

But she only sighed again, a warm breath that still held a faint scent of lemon. Sawyer could barely wait to feel her petal softness and taste the sugar sweetness of her lips.

Closing his eyes, he pressed a kiss to her mouth, a kiss so light and airy that she didn’t move as much as an eyelash.

But although the kiss might not have affected
her,
the sensuous encounter left Sawyer so thoroughly drugged with desire that it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and steal a passionate, more penetrating kiss.

Passionate? More penetrating? He took a deep, shuddering breath, unable to even imagine what a more passionate, more penetrating kiss would do to him.

Quietly, he left her room and started for his own. But he stopped before he reached his door, stopped and looked down the dim corridor, down toward Zafiro’s room.

He was tired, but not too tired.

Sore, but not too sore.

Downstairs he went, and then outside into the yard. Bright moonlight spilled down upon the small pile of boards he’d fashioned during the day.

Moonlight bright enough to work by.

And so he worked. And worked. All night.

And when Zafiro woke up the next morning and stepped out into the yard, the first thing she saw was a swing hanging from a tree, a single red rose lying on its seat.

Chapter Seven

“I
t is such a wonderful
swing, Sawyer!” Standing in the cool shadows of the forest, Zafiro grasped his upper arm, giving it a little shake in an effort to gain his attention.

“So you’ve said. About a million times since you found it.” He examined the thick oak trunk into which he’d driven wooden wedges. The wedges would split the huge trunk into pieces that he would split again and again. “You know, this one oak tree is going to give me enough wood to replace every fence on La Escondida, including Coraje’s paddock. I might even have enough left to—”

“I am talking about the swing you made for me.”

“Yeah, you’ve been swinging in it all day. I guess that means you like it, huh?”

“I do, but I have realized that the swing means something. Something that has made me very happy.”

Sawyer nodded absently, too preoccupied with his tree to concentrate on much else. “And you know what the best thing is about this oak, Zafiro? I don’t have to season it. Not for fences, I don’t. I can use it green, and that’s going to save me a lot of time and—”

“I think that the swing also means that you have changed, Sawyer. That you feel nicer toward me.”

“Uh-huh. Pretty good work, don’t you think, Mariposa?” He hunkered down and rubbed the purring cat’s ears.

“Sawyer, I am talking to you, but I think a post hears better than you!”

Finally, he looked up at Zafiro. “I am not as deaf as a post. I heard every word you said.”

“So when will you help my men learn to shoot and ride again?”

“Shoot and ride…” He frowned. “I didn’t hear you say anything about—”

“Because you were not listening. If you had been listening you would have realized that I was just about to tell you what the swing means to me. You see, Sawyer, I think that when you made the swing for me, it meant that you have put away the ax with my men. You will practice their lost skills with them.”

Slowly, Sawyer rose from the ground. “Just because I made you a swing, you think that in regards to your men I’ve buried the hatchet?”

“Yes. That is what I think.”

“Then you think wrong. My making a swing for you had nothing to do with my helping your men with their shooting and riding.”

“But—”

“I gave them jobs to do, just like you asked me to.”

“Tying strings around bundles of kindling is not—”

“It is so a job.”

“But you are making them stay in the house to do it! They need exercise, Sawyer. They have to be strong, and tying strings around sticks is not going to build up their muscles! So you can just put that in your tobacco and chew it!”

“Or I could put that in my pipe and smoke it.”

“Smoke, chew…I do not care what you do with it!”

He flicked a piece of bark off his arm. “I can’t work with your men hanging around. Just last night you were irritated that I’d only finished a few boards, and now you’re—”

“You should not have made me the swing. Such a nice thing made me believe—”

“Look, the only reason I made the swing is…” He broke off for a moment, unsure of what to tell her. He had to be careful because he sure as hell didn’t want her thinking that he’d made the swing for any sort of romantic reason. “I made it because you might need it if you ever get a sweetheart.”

The instant the words left his mind and lips he knew they’d been the wrong thing to say. Her crestfallen expression told him that. “I don’t mean
if.”
He tried to clarify. “I mean
when.
When
you get a sweetheart you’ll need a swing to swing in. It’s what sweethearts do, Zafiro. Everyone knows that. You even said you’d seen sweethearts swinging in that little town you—”

“I am never going to have a sweetheart, Sawyer, and you know it.”

He did know it, but he wasn’t going to tell
her
that. “Sure you’ll have a sweetheart. You’ll—”

“You kissed me.”

He glared at her. So she’d been awake when he’d kissed her last night, had she?

Damn her.

He drew himself up to his full height. “It was a goodnight kiss. A plain and simple, everyday, run of the mill, nothing to write home about good-night kiss.”

“You don’t say good night to Tia or Azucar by kissing them on their lips.”

Was there no end to her snappy rejoinders? “It was a damn peck.”

“I liked it.”

He wanted to know how
much
she’d liked it, but swore the earth would open and eat him up before he’d ask. “I’m glad you liked it, but I’m beginning to regret I ever did it in the first place. For God’s sake, Zafiro, would you just forget it? It was just a stupid kiss. Hell, it was hardly even a real kiss!”

“No? What is a real kiss like?”

It took him a moment to answer. Not because he didn’t know how to reply, but because his attention was centered on her mouth, her lips.

Pink petals. Sugar. And lemons.

God, how he would enjoy showing her
exactly
what a real kiss entailed.

“Sawyer?”

“I don’t want to talk about kissing anymore. Kissing and fence building… They just don’t seem to go together.” He picked up his bag of tools and walked deeper into the woods, where he’d left several felled trees.

Zafiro trailed along behind him, her sapphire swinging upon her chest. “Sawyer, why would you kiss me and make me a swing if you didn’t like me?”

“What? I never said I didn’t like you.”

“So you do like me?”

He arrived at the spot where the trees had fallen and dropped his tools onto the leafy ground. “I liked you five minutes ago.” He found his saw and began lopping off a branch from one of the trees.

“Well, if you like me then why won’t you help my men with their fighting skills?”

“Why do you think that one of the women in your little paintings might be your mother?” He didn’t even try to make a smoother change of the subject.

“I do not want to talk about the paintings—”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to talk about your men, so we’re even.”

She wondered how she could turn the conversation back around to her men. Her eyebrow arched high, she pulled a single leaf off the felled tree and twisted its short, slender stem between her fingers. “My father, he had many lovers. Sometimes he had their portraits done in miniature. Of course, I do not know if he had all his women painted, so there is a chance that my mother’s likeness is not one of the miniatures I have.”

Seeing that she had his attention, she smoothed the leaf across her cheek and continued. “My mother, she left me with my father and the gang when I was barely a month old. It was night, my grandfather said, and he and his men were sleeping around the fire in their camp. A baby’s cries awakened them. They found me in a basket nearby. The note attached to the basket informed my father that I was his daughter. Except for the color of my eyes, I looked very much like my father, so he and the gang accepted and named me. The men, they took very good care of me while I was growing up, and they could still take care of me if you would only work with them and teach them—”

“Oh, for God’s sake. I’ve had enough.
Enough,
do you hear me? You say one more word about my working with your men, and I’ll—”

“If you would only listen to the reasons why I need you to help them, you would—”

“Protection. You already told me that the day you first mentioned this harebrained idea of yours. But what the hell do you need protecting from? Besides, you’ve got a guard cougar, don’t you? And if Mariposa’s not sufficient, you can always press Jengibre into service too.”

For a moment Zafiro struggled with the deep fear that the thought of Luis always gave her. The man was coming, and she had to make Sawyer understand! “Sawyer—”

“No one can find La Escondida anyway, Zafiro. If I hadn’t seen how you got in here that day, I’d never have even noticed the concealed entrance. Hell, the Fountain of Youth would be easier to find than this lair of loony lawbreakers.”

She frowned, unable to understand what he was talking about. “The Fountain of Youth?”

He decided to capitalize upon her lack of schooling. Talking about the Fountain of Youth might possibly take her mind off her old men. “Yeah, the Fountain of Youth. There was this guy, see, and his name was Ponce de Leon. He sailed all over the seas, looking for this Fountain—”

“Stop it, Sawyer.”

“—of Youth,” Sawyer continued smoothly. “And he… Stop it? Stop what? I’m only trying to tell you the story about the Fountain of—”

“No, you are trying to make me forget about my men. You must think that I have birds in my attic.”

He couldn’t suppress a small chuckle over her idiotic choice of words. “No, but I’ve often wondered if you have bats in your belfry. Look, Zafiro,” he said, laying aside his saw and reaching out to cup her warm cheek with his hand, “I really don’t think you have a thing to worry about. If anyone ever
did
happen to get inside La Escondida, they’d need no more than five minutes here before almost breaking their necks trying to get out.”

She stepped away from him and peered up into his eyes. “You hate us, don’t you? You really and truly hate us.”

“Yes. I saved Pedro from death at a burning bush because I hate you. I’m trying to fix your home because I hate you. I made you a swing because I hate you. I—”

“Anyone with half a heart would have saved Pedro from burning himself up. And you are fixing my home because you said yourself that the work will strengthen your weakened muscles. And you made me a swing because…because…”

“Because why?” He arched one eyebrow while waiting for her answer.

She didn’t give him one.

“Because I don’t hate you, Zafiro,” he answered for her. “There’s no reason in the world why I had to stay up almost all night making you that stupid swing. I made it because I thought it would make you happy, and it’s as simple as that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m hot and dirty, and I’m going to take a dip in the stream.”

Untying the bandanna from around his neck as he walked, Sawyer headed toward the stream. By the time he reached the splashing, sun-sparkled water, he’d undone the top of his breeches and pulled them halfway down.

Moments later he dove into the lively creek. As the water enveloped and cooled his hot, bare skin, he exhaled and felt a burst of bubbles rush over his face as they rose to the surface. Opening his eyes beneath the water, he saw a cluster of aquatic plants oscillating in the current like little green people swaying in rhythm. In a flash of silver, a school of minnows shot past his face, and then he saw pebbles float down all around him.

More small stones pinged through the surface, making splashing sounds and drifting through the water all around the area where he swam.

Someone was throwing the pebbles at him.

He lifted his head out of the stream and looked toward the bank, where he saw Zafiro clutching a handful of tiny rocks.

She threw more at him, satisfied when a few popped off the top of his head. “If you think you can escape me by going for a swim, Sawyer Donovan, then something else is arriving.”

On his knees in the stream, he swiped water out of his eyes. “And you’ve
got another thing coming
if you think I’m going to listen to another word about your men’s long-lost abilities. Now, leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Fine. Stand there and watch then.”

She did, and smiled appreciatively when he dove back into the stream and she saw his sleek, bare body skimming through the water right beneath the surface. His hair flowed behind him, over his back. It had grown since he’d first come to La Escondida and now fell well past his shoulders.

He came up for air then. Water sparkled on his skin, a few droplets sliding off his face, down his throat, and pooling in the hollow beneath his Adam’s apple.

She looked at his eyes, his lion eyes, and saw that he was staring straight back at her with a bold and steady gaze that brought to life inside her that now-familiar feeling of need and yearning and warmth.

“Like what you see?” Sawyer asked, smug over the intense manner with which she examined him.

“I have seen you naked before, Sawyer. And yes, I liked what I saw then, and I like it now. That warm feeling of wanting something comes to me. I do not feel any satisfaction from the need you make me feel, but the feeling is not uncomfortable.”