Winter at Mustang Ridge (19 page)

The screen went to a slide show of old photographs, a flip book of years as the dark-haired boy aged. Black-and-white went to grainy color. His clothes changed, his horses changed, even the dog disappeared and was replaced with another, fluffier version. But always there was that look of do-or-die concentration, the rope in his hand, the border collie at his heels.

As the images played out, Big Skye shared stories from the trail, interspersing them with pieces of advice, like “Don’t kick dirt in the fire or another man’s meal” and “Always triple-check your cinch.”

The montage ended with a photograph of the boy-turned-man, riding at the front of the herd now rather than its flanks, leading the way through the wrought-iron arch that welcomed visitors—and tired, trail-worn cowboys—to Mustang Ridge Ranch.

In a beat of silence, the image shifted, centering on the figure and then zooming to his face, looking grainy in the close up for a moment. Then the pixels dissolved to Big Skye looking solemnly into the camera. “The most important part, at least to me, is that a cowboy, especially a trail boss, sees to his horse, his men, and his family before he sees to himself. That’s how it’s always been at Mustang Ridge. And, God willing, that’s the way it always will be.”

His eyes held the camera for a two count, and then the screen went black and the guitar picked out a few more chords, then fell silent.

Jenny froze the image and looked at him sidelong. “Well? What do you think?”

I think that you amaze me. That you’re selling yourself short doing what you do . . . and that there’s no way you belong in a place like this
. The last part came out of nowhere and felt like it came from somebody else, a guy who was actually thinking along those lines. A guy who wished she would stay, wished that what they had was more than temporary. “I think it’s amazing,” he said, able to put that one out there, at least. “Seriously incredible, and not just as an advertising piece. It’s a little movie, all wrapped up in what, five minutes? Eight? But the advertising works, too, because after seeing that, I’m so going to jump in on Roundup Week next summer. You just juiced every cowboy fantasy I ever had, and even added a few new ones.”

“That was all thanks to Big Skye. And Gran, too. She’s the one who started pulling the photos together a few years back. I just picked up where she left off.” But Jenny’s cheeks were pink, her lips curved.

“The stories and pictures are pure gold, but it’s the filmmaking that wraps it all up and ties a big fat bow on it.” He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on her. And then, compelled by the taste of her lips and the buzz from watching her movie, he went back for another that lingered.

She murmured and shifted against him, making his body suddenly very aware that they were curled together, practically horizontal. He rose over her, letting his lips trail across her jaw to her neck, the dip of her collarbone. Rather than pushing him away, she slid her hands under his shirt and along his ribs, leaving little licks of fire behind.

Groaning, he pulled back. “Jenny, I—”

“Whuff!” Rex’s bark was close to a howl as he shot to his feet and shook off twenty pounds of aerial tabby attack. When Cheese just clung, Rex bolted off the sofa.

“Ow!” Nick rolled, shielding Jenny from the canine stampede, which was followed by a blur of stripey orange. “Darn it, you two!”

Cheesepuff disappeared around the corner into the spare room, flicking his tail.

Nick felt a tremor beneath him, and looked down to find Jenny laughing silently, with both hands clapped over her mouth and her eyes filled with mirth.

When their gazes met, she lowered her hands and wheezed. “What a pair of brats!”

“Not to mention a buzzkill.” He levered away from her. “Yes?”

“More like a reality check.” She straightened and ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing the sleek, dark strands. “I don’t want to seem like a tease—”

“You’re not. We just got carried away.”

She slid him a sidelong look. “Started to, anyway.”

“Yeah . . . so.” He stood and held out a hand. “Want to play a game?”

“What, Halo?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of backgammon or a puzzle or something. It’s a family snow-day tradition.”

“Aw, that’s nice. Not to mention that it’ll keep our hands busy.”

He hauled her to her feet and patted her on the behind. “Smart lady. No wonder I like you. Games are over here. They came with the house, along with an extensive collection of VHS tapes that I Freecycled.”

She peered at the stacked boxes in the built-in. “You have any preference?”

“Scrabble?”

“You have a second choice?”

“How can you not like Scrabble? It’s a classic.”

“Not to sound like the blonde that I am underneath the dye, but I’m Scrabble impaired. I even suck at Words with Friends.” Eyes lighting, she reached for a different box. “Aha! Trivial Pursuit.”

“How is that less mental effort than Scrabble?”

“It’s the Silver Screen Edition.”

“In other words, I’m doomed.” But he took the box and headed for the couch. “What color do you want?”

•   •   •

They were more evenly matched than Nick had predicted—Jenny kicked butt in the on-screen stuff, but it turned out that he had an edge when it came to titles and settings. He won the first game by a few moves, but she trounced him in game two. By the time they neared the end of game three, pretty much neck and neck, Rex was fast asleep on the floor and Cheesepuff was sacked out on the couch, stretched out to cover more square inches than seemed possible.

The humans had switched from wine to water by unspoken consent, so she was stone sober, but there was nothing cold about it. She was warm and flushed all over, and entirely aware of Nick as he sprawled out opposite her, loose and limber, like a high school jock all grown up into a man’s body.

He picked a card and read. “What movie won best picture in 1981?”

She didn’t care anymore, didn’t want to play anymore.
“Gandhi?”

“Nope.
Chariots of Fire
.”

“Drat,” she said, but without much heat. She was six spots short of the center of the wheel, and he was only three. But it didn’t matter who won—all that mattered was what happened after the game.

What was she trying to avoid here? Why? She wanted him, he wanted her; it ought to be an easy choice.

He rolled. “Three! I’m so making it to the middle.” He moved his game piece.

“What category do you want?”

“Titles, baby.”

Snagging a card, she scanned the question, lips curving. “This is a tough one. A silent romantic comedy from 1925 starring Marie Provost, with no known copies in existence.”

Dimples deepening, he sat up and leaned across the board. “Kiss me again.”

Stomach flip-flopping, she obliged, moving in to brush her lips across his and then find his mouth in a deep kiss that was familiar yet not, as if her body was just beginning to recognize his. Against his mouth, she murmured, “You’re stalling.”

He drew away, grin going cocky. “No, I’m not. That’s the title of the movie:
Kiss Me Again
.”

“That’s—” She looked back down at the card. “You’re joking.” But he wasn’t. Laughing, she swept the board aside and closed the small gap between them. “Well, never let it be said that I can’t obey orders when it suits me.”

She leaned in to him, kissed him, and let the rising heat wash away the lingering nervousness. And when the kiss ended, she rose to her feet and held out her hand. He took it but didn’t put any pressure on her, even though she could feel the tension in his big body, see it in his eyes. “Time to call it a night?” he asked with a rough catch of desire in his voice.

“That depends. Is it past midnight?”

“Yes, why? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin? Or wait. Are we having a
Gremlins
moment here? Should I not feed you?”

“Actually, you should. Then, between us having a meal together and it being tomorrow, it’ll count as our fifth date.”

N
ick’s lips curved in that slow, cocky smile she was rapidly becoming addicted to, and then he took a quick scan of the room. Spotting the remnants of the microwave popcorn they had decimated during game two, he scooped up the bowl, snagged one of the last few ragged bits at the bottom, and held it to her lips. “Here.”

She accepted the morsel. “What? No chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne?”

“I’ll do better next time. Right now, I need to do this.” He moved in and kissed her, and there was no mistaking the message he was sending her.
I want this, want you. Here. Now. Hard and fast.
His mouth covered hers, plundering as he took the kiss deeper, banding his arms around her and pressing their bodies together.

Heat flared deep inside her, and this time she didn’t need to keep some part of herself in control. Grateful, relieved, excited, she sank into the kiss. Her hands streaked under his shirt and found the wonderful contrasts of silken skin and wiry hair, of soft spots and hard muscle. Groaning, he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, the side of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Desire coiled from the points of contact, spiraling in to tighten her inner muscles, making her yearn. “Nick,” she whispered, letting her head fall back in surrender. “Yes.”

“Not here. Not like this.” He swung her into his arms in a single smooth, powerful move, and turned for the bedroom.

Jenny curled her arms around his neck and kissed his throat, his jaw, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin and reveling in the feel of being held so carefully. So much for the whole
I can take care of myself
thing. Apparently part of her really dug being swept off her feet.

The bedroom was dimly illuminated by a nightlight that gave off soft sepia tones, like they were inside an old tintype. The mattress and box spring wore a dark comforter, the chair in the corner held a pile of folded clothes, and the nightstand was two milk crates fastened together with a couple of zip ties. The combination made her smile—maybe he wasn’t so landlocked, after all.

“I can give you the name of a fabulous decorator,” she offered.

“Maybe later,” he said, and tossed her.

She shrieked and windmilled, but made a soft landing on what proved to be a decadent foam mattress that yielded perfectly beneath her. “Wow,” she said, stroking the coverlet. “This is . . . Wow.”

There was a low “whuff” from the door, but Rex seemed to understand that she wasn’t in any danger. More, he got that he wasn’t invited. Doing a one-eighty, he disappeared, claws clicking on the tiles as he headed back toward the living room.

After a glance at the doorway, Nick followed her down and rose above her, supporting his weight on his arms while their legs tangled and their bodies aligned so naturally that it felt like they had been lovers for years. Yet at the same time, everything was sharp, new, and bright, like the sensations had turned to colors in the monochrome room.

Leaning down, he brushed his lips across her cheek. There was a chuckle in his voice when he admitted, “I splurged on the mattress.”

“I guess you did.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave a couple of test bounces, only to find almost no rebound. “It’s squishy. How is it for what we’re about to do?”

“We’re about to find out.” He kissed the side of her neck, then moved downward to lift the hem of her shirt and kiss the flesh he had revealed. Fleetingly, she thought that if she had known all this was going to happen, she would’ve worn a prettier bra. She hadn’t planned on seeing him right after her meeting, after all.

And, thinking that, she remembered what else she hadn’t planned for.

She shuddered under his touch, skin going hot-cold-hot, and moved her legs restlessly against his. “Reality check. Condoms?”

He looked up at her, eyes dark and intense. “Top egg crate.”

“Right. Boy Scout.”

He slid both hands under her shirt and peeled it off, and then took a moment to just look at her, eyes heated and approving. Then he said, “I bought them the other day, not because I was assuming anything, but because I wanted to believe we’d end up here.”

“We did. We are. Now, take off that shirt before I have to hurt you.” She caught her breath as he complied. He looked like a bronze statue in the burnished light, all golden skin and bulging muscles, but with the lean ropiness that spoke of hard work outdoors rather than reps at the gym. “And again—wow. Only this time I’m not talking about the mattress.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “You will be in a minute.”

She laughed as he lowered himself to her, and then gasped softly at the first real press of skin on skin, and the good, solid weight of his body against hers. He kissed her long and hard, and the world threatened to spin away. How long had it been since she had felt like this? Had she ever? The faint whisper of nerves that sparked at the thought was quickly lost to the desire that twined through her, following the path of his fingers, his lips.

They undressed each other piece by piece, chasing the clothing away with kisses and soft noises of pleasure. By the time they lay together, naked, her sighs had turned to moans, his hissed-out breaths to groans. Part of her couldn’t believe that she was doing this, but at the same time she couldn’t imagine holding out any longer.

She welcomed him when he rose over her, surged into her, the two of them together forging a tight fit. They found their rhythm together, slow at first as their bodies asked and answered—
yes, there, like that
—and then gaining tempo as the storm inside them swelled and intensified, turning primal. She clung to him, surged beneath him, matching him stroke for stroke and then racing ahead toward the peak. She found her release first, tightening beneath and around him, mouth open in a wordless cry that was echoed moments later in his deeper baritone.

His body bowed as his hips jerked against her, wringing additional pleasure. Then he eased, relaxing into her and letting his brow rest on hers, though he kept his full weight on his arms. Their breathing aligned, their bodies moving together as they had just moments before, only softly now, gently. Then, with a final, almost reverent kiss on her lips, he rolled aside, onto his back, and nestled her against him. And even though she had never been much of a postcoital cuddler, she found that her head fit in the hollow beneath his shoulder, her hand between his pecs.

“So.” The word was a rumble in his chest, followed by a pause, like he was weighing something. After a moment, he said, deeply serious, “How was the mattress?”

A laugh bubbled up alongside relief. They could keep this simple, she thought. They really could. “Superlative, really. I’m going to have to see about getting my own.”

“You can borrow this one a few more times if you’d like.”

She kissed his cheek. “Generous guy.”

“It comes natural when I’m with you.”

“I think it comes natural for you, period.”

His arm tightened around her. “Seriously, Jenny. You make things easy on a man. You don’t play games, don’t make me guess. Instead, you make me think. You make me laugh. And you make me happy.”

Her throat tightened with emotion, but in a good way. There was no sense of “uh-oh, what have I done?” because he got it. He got
her
. And, best of all, he liked her just the way she was.

She tipped her head up and found his lips for a soft, sweet kiss. “There isn’t anybody I’d rather be stranded with, Doc. You’re something special, and I consider myself very lucky that our paths crossed.”

“We’ll have to thank Rex for that.”

“The next cheese plate is all his.”

“As his vet, I’d advise against that,” he said solemnly, then wiggled his eyebrows. “As the guy who just got lucky, I’ll spring for the deluxe tray with the cocktail wieners.”

She gave him a smacking kiss on the lips, still a little dazed by the sex, dazzled by the fact that it didn’t seem to have changed things between them. “Such a prince.”

Alerted by the conversation or the sound of his name, Rex reappeared in the doorway, tail making happy thumps on the frame.
Are you guys coming back out here for more snacks?

Jenny glanced at the window, which was pitch-black except where snow crystals had stuck in the lower corners, turning them round and furry. “I should let him out,” she said, totally not looking forward to getting cold and wet.

“I’ll do it.” Nick rose, found his jeans, and pulled them on.

The desire to stay put warred briefly with guilt. “I should—”

“You should stay right there and build up lots of nice body heat so you can thaw me out when I get back.” He shrugged into a fleece. “Five minutes, maybe less.”

He was back in four, with a big glass of water and a soggy dog who went straight to a fallen blanket on the floor, did his two and a half circles, and plopped down with a happy sigh.

Nick eyed him, amused. “I’ll get us another blanket.”

As he draped it over her, Cheesepuff jumped up and proceeded to pace the length and width of the huge mattress, looking for the perfect spot. Which, it turned out, was directly behind Jenny’s knees, leaving her unable to move much when Nick shucked off his clothes and got back into bed.

Not that she wanted to move, really. He was snowman cold and his hair was damp, but where a couple of week ago she would’ve protected her warmth at all costs, now she curled an arm around his cool torso and rubbed her cheek on his chest, trying to bring him back up to temp. “How bad is it out there?”

“It’s snowing like crazy, and it doesn’t feel like the wind has let up any. There’s probably a foot on the ground, maybe more. You might be stuck here for a while.”

“Better here than anywhere else,” she said drowsily, then tensed, wondering if that was taking it too far.

But he just kissed the top of her head. “Yeah. That was what I was thinking. Get some sleep, darling. We’ll make a snowman in the morning.”

“Is that another Masterson snow-day tradition?”

“If not, it should be.”

They fell silent, listening to the storm. The wind lashed snow pellets against the glass with a rushing hiss, occasionally rattling something outside. It made her feel very snug and safe, being wedged between a cat and her lover, with the dog at their feet. She snuggled in, her brain gone astonishingly quiet. There was none of the usual background chatter, no flashes of things she had seen during the day, images she had filmed or—worse—missed filming. No mental list of the things she needed to do tomorrow, the places she wanted to go. There was just . . . contentment.

Lulled by his and Rex’s breathing and the warm weight of the cat, she was too comfortable to move, too relaxed to do anything but—

Sleep
.

•   •   •

The next morning when twenty pounds of tabby thudded onto Nick’s stomach and padded up his torso with pointy paws, he fought consciousness like the devil, trying to hold on to his dreams, which had been a delicious mix of sexy skin, soft touches, and—

Jenny
.

A whole-body shock went through him, and he opened his eyes and turned to find her there, snuggled into a pillow with her eyelashes fanned out across her lightly freckled cheeks.

A big orange head loomed over him, blocking out the light.

He nudged the cat aside. “You’ll wake her up.”

Or maybe not. She looked deeply under, breathing softly. They had turned to each other twice more during the night, once in the wee hours and again not long ago. He should let her rest. Granted, he hadn’t gotten any sleep, either, and he had that tired-legs, whole-body ache that came from what they’d been doing—and doing well—since just after midnight. But at the same time, he felt like he could take on the world, like a movie superhero. He was energized, loose, relaxed, and totally ready to roll. And hey, what do you know? It was still snowing—big, fat flakes that drifted down rather than pelting sideways, but wouldn’t be any easier on the roads. Which didn’t just mean another snow day. It meant another snow day with Jenny.

He couldn’t think of anything better.

Claws sank into his shoulder, and he got a loud “Mrwow!” right in his ear, followed by a “whuff” from down below and the
thump-thump-thump
of Rex’s tail.

“Okay, okay, I’m up.” He peeled himself out of the bed, pulled on sweats and socks, and then turned back and tucked the blankets around Jenny. Leaning in, he kissed her brow. “Don’t get up. We’ve got all day.”

She smiled and gave a sweet murmur. With the diffuse white snow-light illuminating her, she looked like a portrait done by a master, with a glow to her skin offset by her dark hair and rose-tinted lips. The image caught him, engraving itself on his retinas.

If he had been the photographer, he would have gone for his camera. But all he had was his phone, and he didn’t want to come off as creepy.

“Go on, you two.” He waved the critters toward the kitchen. “Let’s see what we can do about breakfast.” He wasn’t sure if this was a continuation of his and Jenny’s fifth date or the beginning of their sixth—or whether they had stopped counting—but he definitely wanted to do better than leftover popcorn.

•   •   •

Jenny woke slowly, like she was surfacing after holding her breath underwater. The sinful mattress cushioned her, tempting her to slip back under and rest some more, but when she stretched beneath the soft sheets, unfamiliar twinges reminded her of the new reality.