My Dearest Cal (15 page)

“Why are you changing your mind? What made you decide to go to Wyoming?”

To get you to stay in my life, he wanted to say, but stubborn pride silenced him. Instead he said, “If I call the woman out of the blue the way you want me to, she’d probably die of shock. The more I think about it, the more I see that going out there is the only thing to do. We might as well get it over with.”

“Together?” Marilou said again.

Her expression, caught between excitement and panic, made Cal smile despite his many misgivings. “What’s the matter, Marilou? Scared of flying?”

“No, of course not,” she denied hotly.

“Then it must be me, after all.”

She shot him a determined look. “Not a chance.”

“Then you’ll come along?”

A smile broke across her face, and Cal felt the dread that had filled him for the past twenty-four hours finally begin to abate. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, clambering awkwardly into the truck. “When do we leave?”

“As long as your bags are already packed,” he said dryly, “I suppose we might as well try to get my plane fueled and ready by this afternoon.”

As soon as he’d uttered the words, his own desperate panic set in, but he had only to look at the radiance of Marilou’s expression to see that he’d done the only thing he could possibly do.

* * *

Though she wanted to follow Cal upstairs to make sure he actually packed a bag and didn’t sneak off to Timbuktu, Marilou settled down at the kitchen table to wait. She drank another cup of the awful coffee
that Cal had made that morning. It left her already-jangled nerves even more frayed. It finally got so bad she couldn’t make herself sit still. She began to pace. Then she began throwing a load of laundry into the washer. Then she wiped off the countertops again.

How had her life become so complicated? She was about to go chasing off across the country to the Wild West with a man who was as close as she was ever likely to come to a free-spirited cowboy, a man she wanted so badly her whole body ached with longing.

“Good grief,” she murmured. She felt Cal’s touch at the nape of her neck, setting off sparks low in her abdomen.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

“Fine.”

“We don’t have to go,” he volunteered so quickly that she smiled.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

He grinned ruefully. “It was worth a try.”

“And a noble try it was. Where’s the plane?”

“At the airport. The pilot’s having it refueled. Chaney will take us. He should be here any minute.”

“Chaney?” she said, her eyes widening incredulously. “I thought he was in Miami.”

“Don’t look at me like that. He was. He came back with the plane just now. I can’t go off and leave this place without someone being in charge.”

“If you say so,” she said doubtfully.

“I swear to you that I did not have him hidden in the barn.”

“If he arrives here smelling like manure, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do, Cal Rivers.”

“If he shows up smelling like anything else,
he’s
going to have a lot of explaining to do. He was supposed to be down there hanging around the Gulfstream backstretch talking to trainers.”

A few minutes later when Chaney pulled up in front of the house, Cal took their bags out.

“How’d the trip go?”

“The plane ride was just great. I wasn’t on the ground long enough to get much business done, though. I’d barely made it to the track when you called and said to get home. What the devil’s the danged emergency?”

“I’m going to Wyoming.”

“What’s out there?”

“Family business.”

Chaney seemed to take count of the bags. “She going too?”

“Yes. We shouldn’t be gone more than a day or two.”

The old man got a speculative gleam in his eyes. “You stay as long as you want,” he said slyly. “The boys and I can manage around here.”

“A couple of days,” Cal repeated adamantly. “This isn’t a vacation.”

“Maybe it ought to be,” Chaney countered, casting a pointed look at Marilou. “If a man’s got any sense at all, he ought to take advantage of the opportunities that come his way.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Cal said dryly, avoiding Marilou’s gaze.

* * *

It was only later, when the plane was in the air, that she dared to meet Cal’s eye. “Opportunity, huh?”

“I don’t think he meant that the way it sounded,” he said, but he was watching her speculatively. The hungry longing in his eyes turned her blood to liquid fire. Her heart pounded with sweet anticipation.

“I think he did,” she said, her voice husky. “When did Chaney turn matchmaker?”

“You said it yourself. He’s hooked on those blueberry muffins you’ve been baking for him. He’s not above any sneaky tactic in the book that’ll get you to stick around.”

Deep in her gut she felt the first stirring of real hope. Chaney’s approval meant a lot. If she could win over a crusty old dyed-in-the-wool bachelor like him, surely she had a chance to gain Cal’s trust and love. She had no doubts at all that he was attracted to her. The frequent flaring of desire in his eyes was plain as day. Even his most casual touches were meant to inflame and entice. And they were effective. Half the time she felt as if her heart was hammering so hard it would burst right through her chest.

She looked up and realized he was watching her with that familiar look in his eyes. He held out his hand and she placed hers in it.

“Scared?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Excited. I can’t believe I’m
doing this. I’ve never done anything this impulsively in my life.”

“You came to Florida.”

“True.”

“And you moved in with me.”

“I didn’t actually move in with you.”

“Oh?”

“I mean I moved into your house, temporarily, but that’s different from moving in with you the way you mean.”

“How did I mean it?”

“Stop it, Cal. You’re deliberately teasing me.”

He grinned. “I suppose. I was hoping I was doing more than that.”

She eyed him warily. “Did you lure me out here to try to seduce me?”

“Sweetheart, I could have done that back in Florida,” he said with irritating but all too accurate arrogance.

“Says who?”

He grinned and rubbed his thumb in erotic circles in her palm. His gaze held hers and he said softly, “Says me.”

She swallowed hard. “Okay, so maybe you could,” she said breezily. “The point is that we are going to Wyoming so that you can meet your grandmother. There won’t be enough time for dalliance.”

He hooted at that. “Dalliance?”

“Cal Rivers, if you keep laughing at me, any prospect for kisses now or at any time in the future is seriously jeopardized.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so,” she began, but her breath caught as he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss began before she could think to stop it. It went on because she didn’t want to end the glorious sensations that swept through her as his mouth moved against hers.

“Damn you,” she murmured, when he deliberately lifted his head for one taunting instant. The victory was clearly his. She caught Cal’s triumphant laughter as she covered his lips with her own. She was unprepared for the sheer exhilaration of those kisses, for the deliciously wicked freedom she felt even as he was binding her heart to his. Even after they were on the ground in Cheyenne, Marilou’s heart was still somewhere in the clouds.

When Cal registered them in a one-bedroom suite at an old hotel in Cheyenne, she was fully aware of the implications. When he ordered champagne with their dinner from room service, her pulse soared. And when he slid his arms around her, neither of them gave a thought to the meal that was being ruined while they discovered the sensual adventure of being together.

Chapter Ten

“D
o you have any idea how incredible I feel?” Marilou said, freeing herself from Cal’s embrace and spinning around in the wonderful, old-fashioned suite with its Victorian furniture and red brocade draperies. It was luxurious and slightly decadent, sending her imagination off on a delicious fantasy. She’d had no idea her thoughts could turn so wicked. It was clear that Cal brought out this deeply feminine and sensual side of her.

Oh, my, how she intended to enjoy it! She was here in a new and exciting place with a man she loved, a man who just might be coming to care for her. All of the pieces of her life—the longing for adventure, the search for romance, the need for family—all of it seemed to be suddenly falling into place. It was as if
she’d waited her whole life for this man, for this moment. The sweet throb of anticipation made her giddy.

Then the thought of Cal’s grandmother stole in and sobered her at once.

“Cal, shouldn’t we go to your grandmother’s ranch?”

“Not tonight. It’s already late. Besides we deserve this time just for us.”

“You’re not just putting off the inevitable, are you?”

“No. I want you, sweetheart, and I can’t wait any longer to have you. I intend to do a little long-delayed romancing before we get side-tracked.”

“Champagne. Chateaubriand for two. That’s definitely romantic. Isn’t that outrageously expensive?” she asked.

“You’re worth it,” he murmured, reaching for her, his gaze still smoky with desire. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

“Beautiful? Me?”

Cal laughed and drew her close. The musky scent of his after-shave enticed her and the last guilty thoughts of Cal’s grandmother fled.

“Don’t play coy. You know you’re gorgeous, especially the way you look now with your red hair spilling loose over your shoulders and your cheeks all flushed.” He ran his fingers through the silky tangles. “You look like a woman who was made for loving.”

The huskiness of his voice and the gleam in his eyes made her knees go weak. This was the way love was supposed to feel, terrific and scary all at once. It
was supposed to set free all your wildest dreams. It allowed you to dare, to take impossible risks, trusting that love would keep you safe.

“Cal,” she said tentatively, her imagination flying again.

“Hmm?”

She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, “I have this fantasy.”

For an instant, he appeared stunned. Then he immediately sat down, crossed his legs and assumed a look of total fascination. “Yeah? What sort of fantasy does an innocent young lady from Atlanta have?”

“You won’t laugh?”

“Sweetheart,” he said fervently. “If this is leading where I think it’s leading, I definitely will not laugh.” She grinned, thoroughly emboldened by his enthusiasm and maybe just a little by the champagne. “I think maybe it came from watching too many Westerns. You know, the cowboy was always coming into some bar, hot and dusty from the trail. And this woman was always dressed up real fancy and the room always looked a little like this.”

“Like a bordello?”

“You’re catching on.”

“My, my. I never would have guessed where your thoughts would roam. In this fantasy of yours, is the woman, shall we say, an employee? Or is she a lady who’s just arrived from back east?”

“I think she’d better be a lady,” she said, blushing furiously as Cal’s gaze lingered on her meaningfully. If he’d actually stripped away her clothes, she could
have felt no more exposed or wanted or vulnerable. “I don’t have the experience for the other.”

“In this game, imagination is almost as important as skill. So far, believe me, you’re at the top of the class. Tell me, in this fantasy does the cowboy offer to buy the lady a drink?”

She nodded. “Champagne, of course.”

“Of course. Fortunately this cowboy happens to have a bottle handy.” He poured a refill of the sparkling liquid into a crystal flute and handed it to her, their fingers grazing. His eyes caught hers and held until her pulse bucked, then raced faster than any Thoroughbred in his stables. He poured a glass for himself, then touched his glass to hers. Even the ping of crystal meeting crystal made her senses sing.

“To fantasy,” he said.

“To fantasy,” she murmured, thinking that the reality was already surpassing the excitement of the dream.

“Marilou,” he whispered, his voice a low command that drew her gaze back to his.

Eyes wide with anticipation, she waited.

“I think we need to pick up the pace of this fantasy, before I go crazy here.”

“What happens next in your version?” she said. “I thought this was your fantasy.”

“Actually, I sort of run out of steam when they get to the top of the steps,” she admitted regretfully.

He swallowed hard and stared at her. “Are you…”

“Yep. Afraid so.”

“I guess I knew that. Are you sure this is what you want, then?”

She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving his. “More than anything. But you’re going to have to take over from here. I’m out of lines.”

A lazy, provocative smile spread across his face. “I think I can manage. It seems to me that the next scene definitely calls for a kiss.”

“A chaste kiss?”

“Absolutely,” he said, drawing her down on his lap and brushing his lips across her forehead. She sighed and settled in his arms, her fingers stroking the faint stubble on his cheeks. He went absolutely still at her touch, his gaze leveled on her face.

“And then?” she whispered.

“And then a not so chaste kiss,” he said, his voice rough as sandpaper and so low she had to lean close to hear it. The scent of warm musk enveloped her.

The first kiss with its merest whisper of danger brought her to the edge of a precipice. The second pushed her over the edge into a riot of glorious new sensations. He gently brushed aside her hair and caressed the exposed sweep of sensitive skin, murmuring endearments all the while, intent on easing fears she’d long since overcome. When he unfastened the first button of her blouse, she felt daring. When he undid the rest, she felt a rush of heat and the slow, sweet tug of longing.

“Touch me,” he pleaded, and she skimmed cautious fingers over skin that was already on fire to her touch. The textures, so different from her own, fascinated
her, and with his encouragement she became increasingly bold, stripping away his shirt, anxiously tugging off the T-shirt beneath. Back in Florida she’d seen him in no more, seen him with his bronzed shoulders bared to the sun, but there she hadn’t been able to touch. Now she couldn’t seem to satisfy herself with one caress. She wanted to stroke, to savor, to taste. She wanted to stare until she’d memorized every fascinating, masculine inch of him.