A Silver Lining (7 page)

They used towels to clean up as much as they could. Heather wondered if the mud that had seeped into her pores was cleansing or not. Probably not if it had fish and snake poop in it. She made a face at the mental picture.

"Ready for lunch?” Tristan asked.

"I'm so hungry I don't even care about sitting here covered in God-knows-what."

He reached into the truck bed and lifted up a blanket and a picnic basket. As he set up the surprisingly romantic gesture, she could only watch him with raised eyebrows.

"Come on,” he urged as he walked to a nearby tree and spread out the blanket. “This is the best spot on earth to enjoy lunch.” He sat down and stretched out his long legs, which managed to spike a sliver of lust in her tired body. He proceeded to lift the various plastic containers full of food and set them around in an organized manner.

"What's all this?"

"Hm? Let's see, cantaloupe, some cheese and crackers, pasta salad, and fried chicken. Mabel's special."

"Fried chicken? You know how much cholesterol that has in it?"

He shot her a pointed look. “You smoke, and you're worried about cholesterol?"

"I'm surprisingly complex,” she answered as she sat cross-legged next to him. She grabbed a plate and took everything but the chicken. “Besides, I don't eat meat, remember?"

"I don't understand how anyone can be a vegetarian,” he replied, holding up a drumstick and licking his lips in an exaggerated manner. “This is the best fried chicken ever."

"That is so gross."

They ate in silence. Heather felt comfortable, for once, being near him. The thrum of sexual attraction still arced between them, but the animosity had dimmed. After the food was gone and the dishes put away, they lay on the blanket and stared up into the blue sky.

"You grew up here, didn't you?” she asked.

"Yeah. My dad worked here. He died when I was six, heart attack. Then my uncle became foreman. He was great friends with Avery."

"And they died together."

"I used to wish that I could stay forever on this ranch, and then when they died, I got my wish. Took me a long time to get over the guilt."

"Guilt? You didn't kill them."

"No, but I benefited from their death."

"And now there's me."

He turned his head to look at her. She turned her head as well to meet his gaze.

"And now there's you,” he confirmed.

"God, I wish I had a cigarette,” she muttered.

"So when did you start smoking?"

"Right before my sixteenth birthday."

"Why?"

She fell silent, watching the clouds, thinking of the right answer. “At first people expected me to act a certain way, so I obliged them. Pretty soon, however, it became a way to cope."

"Why did they expect you to act a certain way?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't without revealing too much of her inner struggle, so she shrugged the matter away. He understood the message and changed the question.

"You gonna quit?"

"Someday. But not right now."

He reached over and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. Heather turned her head to look at him. Whatever pull existed between them snapped like a rubber band, stinging her skin and sensitizing her nerves.

His fingers trailed around to her neck until they tangled in her hair. He pulled her face up and fitted his lips securely over hers, teasing her lips apart to allow his tongue to dance in and twirl with hers. Heather breathed in his scent, an intoxicating blend of male and raw sexuality. She raised her arms and encircled his neck, allowing his body to press into hers. She felt the hard ridge of his cock and shifted to part her legs and brought him flush to the area where she needed him most.

He settled into her, his heartbeat striking against her forcefully. He moaned a sexy sound that hurled her closer to losing all sense and control. Tristan pulled away from her mouth to trail hot kisses over her cheek toward her ear. He sucked on her earlobe, tracing the shell with his tongue. She shivered and clutched him tighter. He started working on the buttons on her shirt, opening them to reveal a white lace bra, the cups pushing her cleavage up. He licked over the swells, pushing the delicate lingerie up and baring her nipples to his hungry mouth.

Heather arched her back, urging him, and he wasted no time. His right hand held her breast to his mouth, and he feverishly sucked the nipple deep. His other hand, meanwhile, traveled down, over her hip to reach the apex of her thighs. His fingers pushed against the material that hid her sex, and through the tough denim he found her clit, teasing the sensitized nerve nexus.

"Mmm,” she groaned, her hips moving to grind against his hand.

It took only a moment for Tristan to undo her pants and ease his calloused fingers inside, sliding through the curls and into her wet heat. His finger dipped inside, teasing and then finding a rhythm that quickly escalated the fire in Heather's blood. He traced the moist path to her clit, brushing it lightly as she started to wiggle from the torture. Another finger moved in, as his palm applied just enough pressure to make her writhe. In and out his second finger moved as the first one hit her clit. In seconds an orgasm flushed over Heather, robbing her of breath for a few moments. She rode it out, humping his hand that still teased, desperate for more and yet wanting his flesh in hers.

"Take off your pants,” she begged when her ability to speak returned.

He eased back, not far enough for his body heat to leave her but allowing enough space to stare down into her passion-filled gaze.

"I'm not gonna have sex with you here, Heather,” he told her. Heather tensed, the warm glow of climax slipping away quickly. “When I do, we're going to do it right."

"Do it right?” She pushed him off her and scrambled hurriedly to her feet, zipping her jeans. “What the hell does that mean?"

He sighed and encircled his knees with his arms, linking his hands together as he watched her. “It means we're not going to fuck where anyone can ride up and see us. It might get back to Lincoln."

Heather stiffened. “Is that what you're worried about? Him finding out you fucked the competition?"

In a flash Tristan was on his feet, his hands balled on his hips. “Competition? Is that how you still view me, Heather? As your enemy?"

"You are the enemy, Tristan. You want to take this away from me."

"Take what from you, Heather? A ranch you care nothing about?"

"Just because I didn't grow up here doesn't mean I'm not capable of learning. This land may not be in my blood, but you aren't blood either."

"You can be such a bitch."

Heather folded her arms. “Sticks and stones."

He swore under his breath and marched past her. He opened the door to his truck and got in. He didn't even look at her as he started the engine. She watched as he drove away without once looking back at her.

Heather looked at the picnic basket and blanket still lying on the grass. She could see the ranch house in the far distance, if she squinted. She could walk back, but it would be dark by the time she arrived.

She wished she had a cigarette.

Damn cowboy.

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Seeing Tristan's shocked face the next morning at breakfast was well worth waking up at the ungodly hour. Heather sat at the table, nibbling on a bagel, dressed in her own jeans and T-shirt.

"What are you doing up so early?” he asked in a gruff voice.

"I want to learn to ride."

"Ride?” He walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup, blowing to cool it before taking a sip.

"A horse. Not you."

He choked a bit on the coffee. Mabel snickered, and he shot her a warning look. “I don't really have time today,” he said dismissively.

"I do,” Duke said as he walked into the kitchen. “Mornin', Mabel. Heather."

"Awesome!” Heather smiled at him.

Tristan narrowed his eyes, looking at them both, a frown indenting the space between his eyes. But he didn't say anything.

After breakfast, Heather followed Duke to the stable and watched closely as he selected a horse.

"An older mare that won't mind an amateur,” he said as he put on the harness. Duke walked them into the area where she had seen Tristan breaking the horse the other day.

"First,” he said, turning to face her, “let's go over the features of a saddle. The pommel, the horn, the gullet.” Duke pointed to each piece of the saddle as he named it.

"This is the back of the saddle, or the cantle, and you can use it to help swing yourself up. The rest of the saddle you don't need to know right now. To mount, use your left hand to hold the reins and mane. No, short hold the reins. Don't let them droop, keep them secure."

He walked behind her and moved her hands in the right positions.

"Now go ahead and pull yourself up."

Heather took a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed as she faced the horse. The mare had looked small and docile as she came out of the stall, but now all Heather could think about was the distance between the saddle and the ground. Tentatively she put her left food in the stirrup, took a deep breath, and pulled herself up. Surprisingly, she didn't have any difficulty as she settled into the saddle.

"I did it!” she exclaimed excitedly.

"We'll stick with walking to make sure your rear end doesn't kill you tomorrow."

"Yes, it's not like sitting on a fluffy chair, is it?"

Duke grinned at her.

"Duke!"

They both looked over to see Tristan watching them. He waved the cowboy over, so Duke led her and the mare to him.

"I need you to go check the fencing on the eastern border, make sure those wild hogs hadn't ripped it apart."

The two men shared a look that Heather couldn't quite identify. Then Duke eased back, shrugging. He handed the reins over to Tristan. “Sure, boss."

"Use the truck in case you come across some wandering cows."

Duke nodded, gave a salute to Heather, and left them.

Tristan ducked through the railing, holding the reins, but didn't look at her. He checked to make sure the stirrups were the right length for her legs before leading the horse around the small arena. “A horse has a four-beat walk, meaning you should be able to feel each hoof strike the ground. Keep your heels down, chin up, back straight."

"I thought you were busy."

"Duke is handier with a hammer and nails, so I thought it best he take care of the fence."

Heather bit her lip. Yesterday was a heavy albatross hanging between them. The mare must have sensed the unease, because she tossed her head. Tristan immediately went to soothe her, rubbing the soft spot on her forehead and crooning soft words.

Feeling a little jealous of the horse, Heather decided to play along with his not-so-subtle hint and dismiss the memory of yesterday.

"This is a lot easier than I thought it would be."

He shot her a neutral look, relaxing slightly as he saw her bland smile. “There's a lot more to it than this, but we'll go easy for now. Just practice the basics awhile before getting too ambitious."

For the next hour, they both stayed silent as he led the horse, and she learned the feel of the animal's gait. It wasn't unlike riding a motorcycle, actually, where she had learned how to move her hips with the swerve of the machine. But just as Heather started to feel her butt going numb, Tristan called a halt to the lesson and told her to take it easy for the rest of the day.

She watched as he led the mare back to the stable. Somehow, the breach between her and Tristan felt like an ocean, and she wondered how they could close the distance.

But then, was it really wise to try?

The next day, Tristan waited for her with the little mare already saddled. Heather gobbled her cereal quickly and practically skipped out the door.

The morning was cool but not cold, the air crisp in her lungs. The sun had just risen, coating the green hills with a golden sheen. Tristan led them past the immediate workings of the ranch and into the pastures where she saw hundreds of tan and brown cows.

"Do they live out here on the range?"

"For the most part. We've got buildings up where they can go to escape the sun during the day. Once the calves are weaned from their mother, they're put out to pasture. Lincoln adheres to strict organic codes for his cows. It's a longer process than cows raised on grains the factory way, but grain isn't the best diet. It makes the cows sick, which in turn makes them need antibiotics. So when the meat goes to market, it's chock-full of drugs."

"I've read about the hidden lies of organic diets. You know, how if calves are grass fed for the first couple weeks of life and then switched over to factory living, then technically the meat can be labeled ‘grass fed.’”

Tristan nodded. “It's expensive to do it like we're doing it here. We can only keep about a thousand head while other ranches can herd ten times that. But Hart Ranch has built a solid reputation for quality meats, and we've actually seen our profits increase over the past couple of years."

For the next hour they talked as he led her horse in a ride that stuck close to the house but allowed her the feel of the land. She could see the house in the distance, and it looked like a regal palace in the center of a small universe. She saw men and cows and horses out in the pastures. Even the smell of the air seemed new and unique.

For the next few days, despite how busy he always seemed, Tristan took her out for a daily ride around the ranch. He pointed things out, told her so many facts that she actually started to find the ranch's operations interesting. Her muscles even loosened up until it didn't hurt to plant her rear end into the hard, unyielding saddle.

She started sleeping through the night, something she hadn't done in a long time. Heather realized one morning as she came back in after the morning ride that she felt peaceful. Away from millions of people, blaring city noises, and mounds of traffic, Heather felt the constant tension she lived with slowly draining out of her.

After each ride, after removing the saddle and wiping down her horse, Heather lingered for a time in the stable. It was fast becoming a place she liked hanging around, though she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe because the horses were neutral parties, accepting without prior judgment. She still felt uneasy around Tristan, even though she felt the barriers between them slowly start to come down. She wouldn't say things were good, or even fine, but she felt like they were starting to reach a level of mutual respect.