Beautiful Dreamer with Bonus Material (22 page)

His words broke off as she came to him, licking his lips with tiny strokes of her tongue, teasing him when he tried to capture her mouth. She moved against him, gently pushing him backward, inciting him with her sultry caresses and silky retreats.

When he felt the bed against his legs, he sank down, pulling her after him. She slipped from his arms as her hands and mouth moved over his face, his shoulders, his chest. The hot, wet caress of her tongue made him wild. Hungrily he tried to unbutton her blouse, but she slid away again.

“No,” she murmured, biting his nipple with exquisite care. She sat up and her hands moved quickly, taking off her clothes, throwing them aside. “Let me dream you,” she whispered, coming down beside him in a warm rush. “Let me. Dream.”

At first Rio didn’t understand. Then she began to move over him like sunrise, warming everything she touched. And like sunrise, she touched everything. The pleasure of her hands was a sweet violence. The pleasure of her mouth taking him was an ecstasy so great he couldn’t breathe.

And still she dreamed him, creating him with each hot touch of her tongue, each shivering instant that she held him, dreaming and loving him equally, suspending both of them in a timeless sensuality that ended only when he looked at her dreaming him and knew that he had to share both the dreaming and the dream or he would die.

He reached for her, saying her name again and again, his voice as rough as his breathing.

Her only answer was the intimate glide of her tongue over his aching flesh, her murmur as she tasted his hot essence.

Suddenly the world spun and Hope found herself flattened beneath Rio’s weight. Her smile became a blaze of sensual anticipation. His smile was narrow and taut. Her elegant legs rubbed caressingly against him in mute demand that he fill her until she overflowed.

But it was his turn to dream, and hers to be dreamed, and he wouldn’t be denied one single instant of it. His hands and mouth moved over her like the wind, wrapping her in a sensual storm, taking her to the edge of breaking and holding her there, shaking, holding himself there with her, dreaming with a consuming passion he had never known before.

When he finally sank into her, he drank her scream of pleasure with a deep kiss. They moved together as one, dream and dreamer, and neither knew who was dreamer or dream.

Hope fell asleep locked tightly in Rio’s arms, her questions abandoned because the answers no longer mattered. She was the land and he was a rain-bearing wind. Against that truth, no question or retreat was possible.

She would stay, he would go, and love would be the empty sky stretched between them.

Twenty-two

“W
AKE UP, DREAMER
,” Rio said, nuzzling against the satin weight of Hope’s breast. “We’ve got a well to dig.”

Her eyes opened. The first pale radiance of dawn was filling the room. She smiled at the hard-faced man who lay naked beside her. Sighing, she eased her hands into his thick, collar-length hair, savoring the feel of it against her sensitive skin.

Deliberately he moved his head against her palms, increasing the pressure of her caress. The frank sensuality of his response sent visible shivers through her. Her breasts tightened and peaked, tempting him. She shifted her legs until they were tangled with his, asking for the gift of his body.

He kissed the dark rose tip of one breast and sank deeply into her, loving the feel of her sultry, welcoming heat. He moved slowly, slowly, nudging her from sleepiness into dreamlike arousal until she lifted and twisted against him, but still he pushed her slowly, tenderly, irresistibly over the sensual edge. He savored his nakedness inside her, shared the shivering, tugging, pulsing of her ecstasy, and then he put his face against her neck and gave himself to her in a long, unraveling release that was like nothing he had ever known with a woman before.

For a time there was only silence and dawn and the warmth of their intimacy. Then Rio sighed and reluctantly separated himself from Hope.

“I’ll wait in the shower for you,” he said.

After a few lazy minutes of wishing that Rio was still in bed with her, Hope went down the hall still half-asleep, lured by the sound of running water. When she stepped into the bathroom, he leaned out of the bathtub shower and watched while she wrapped her hair in a towel. He kissed her nose, nibbled on her lips, and pulled her into the shower with him.

She yelped. The water had just barely begun to warm the pipes. “How can you stand it?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Keeps me out of trouble.”

She slanted him a remembering kind of look. “Are you calling me trouble?”

“Real quick this morning, aren’t you?”

He gave her a kiss that made her forget the temperature of the water, handed her the soap, and got out of the shower before he started something they didn’t have time or privacy to finish properly. Mason had just come in downstairs and was banging pots in a wordless warning of his presence.

Hope didn’t linger even though the water was getting hotter with each passing second. She knew how eager Mason was to get out to the well site. And so was she.

Today was the first day of December. More important, it was the first day of drilling.

Part of her was like a kid at Christmas, half-wild to unwrap the biggest present and end the suspense. The rest of her was adult. She wanted the well. She must have it for the Valley of the Sun to survive. But when the well was dug, Rio would leave.

She pushed the thought aside and soaped herself quickly. There was nothing she could do about the future except let it ruin the time she did have with him. She wasn’t going to do that.

The smell of bacon and coffee drifted up the stairs to Hope. She pulled on clothes in a rush and went downstairs with the heedless speed of a child.

“Morning, Mason,” she said when she got to the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”

“What does your nose tell you?”

“That you’ve been sucking on that horrible pipe.”

He snickered as though they hadn’t said the same thing every morning for as long as he could remember.

Rio handed her a steaming cup of coffee that was as black as his hair. Automatically she went to the screened porch and looked out at the dawn sky.

Pure air, shimmering with light and color, absolutely empty of clouds. It was cold, too, the kind of dry cold that made the air shine like polished crystal.

“No rain,” Mason said without looking up from the bacon. “This here drought is shaping up to be a real doozy.” He dragged a few crisp strips of bacon onto a paper plate to drain. “How are the troughs holding out?”

“Filled them yesterday,” Rio said.

He snitched a piece of bacon as soon as Mason’s back was turned. He took a big bite and fed the remaining half to Hope.

“Saw that,” Mason said without heat. “May be old, but I ain’t blind. You doing the eggs this morning, gal, or are you gonna eat whatever I take a notion to fry?”

Hastily she put down her cup of coffee and began cracking eggs into a pan. Very quickly everyone was sitting down to breakfast. As usual, silence reigned until the last bit of food was eaten.

While Mason and Rio loaded lengths of pipe and five-gallon cans of water and fuel into the pickup, Hope raced through the kitchen, setting up everything for dinner. The three of them climbed into the front seat of the truck and headed for Wind Canyon.

As soon as they turned off the main ranch road, the truck started shaking like a rough-gaited horse. The side road was nothing more than twin ruts that snaked over and around natural obstacles. It was better suited to horses than to vehicles, but as long as it didn’t rain, the four-wheel-drive pickup was more efficient for hauling people and supplies than a horse and wagon.

Both excited and content, Hope sat quietly between the two men she loved. From time to time she watched Rio from under her eyelashes, admiring the strong masculine lines of his face and the midnight-blue clarity of his eyes.

He caught one of her looks, took his hand off the wheel long enough to trace the line of her cheek with a gentle knuckle, and then concentrated on the rugged road again.

Mason smiled to himself. Rio had never been an outgoing and affectionate kind of man, yet he rarely had his hands off Hope for more than a few minutes. It wasn’t just her female parts he was after, either. He touched her hair, her cheek, her hand, her arm. It was a man’s way of saying without words that he liked being with a woman. And she sure liked being with him. It showed in her smile, her eyes watching him, her complete ease with a man that lots of folks were uncomfortable around.

In all, Mason was planning on a January wedding. February at the latest.

Blissfully unaware of Mason’s thoughts, Hope leaned lightly against Rio and watched the land unfold. Wind Canyon looked different to her now. Instead of being a dry, nearly useless piece of the ranch’s history, it was the leading edge of the Valley of the Sun’s future. To Hope, in Wind Canyon the air was cleaner, the sun brighter, the sage more silver, and the mountains a beautiful, jumbled treasure house whose riddle her lover had solved.

Rio saw the excitement on Hope’s face and wanted to warn her again that he couldn’t guarantee a successful well.

There was water here, no doubt about it. Water that had fallen on the mountaintops and transformed limestone into a huge, unlikely sponge. Water that had sunk gradually into the limestone and moved through it at a pace that made a glacier look like a racehorse. Water pulled by gravity and pushed by the increasing weight of each season’s rain sinking down until the aquifer became a solid river under tremendous pressure, millions upon millions of acre-feet of pure cold liquid waiting to pour out once the waterproof stratum over it was broken by a drill bit.

Water that had flowed for a million years and would flow for a million years more.

Yes, the water was here. He could still remember its presence tingling up through his body. But how far down? And how much hard rock was between the limestone and the surface of the earth?

How much hard
luck
waited, too?

He knew very well the kinds of incidents that plagued drilling. Broken drill bits and tools dropped into the drilling hole. Injury caused by carelessness or exhaustion or both. Water discovered, but too little to do any good.

Then there was the weather. Wells, especially in the West, rarely came in convenient places. Wind Canyon was no different. Remote. Rough. Unforgiving. If it rained too much, it would be almost impossible to supply the drilling site. Then Rio would have to shut down until it dried out.

Hope didn’t have enough money to carry the ranch through those kinds of delays.

At least rain didn’t seem to be a problem for a while, but the rest of the hard-luck list couldn’t be shrugged off. The only way to find out how far down the water lay was to drill until you hit it. If you ran out of time, money, luck, or guts before you brought in a well, you had your answer—the water was too damned far down.

It was the time factor that ate most deeply into Rio’s confidence. He had worked as little as a week drilling a successful well and he had worked for months on hard-luck, hard-rock holes.

Though Hope hadn’t said anything herself, Mason had quietly told Rio that the second mortgage was due January fifteenth. She insisted that she had the money to pay off the second mortgage and still keep the ranch alive, but Rio knew that Hope’s resources were very limited.

He was haunted by the idea of her pouring everything she had into a useless hole in the ground, a hole he had chosen and encouraged her to dig.

Rio hoped that the aquifer was close to the surface, but every bit of his education and instinct told him that the water was down, way down, right at the breaking point of money, luck, and nerve.

The pickup bucked and slithered and crabbed up Wind Canyon’s rocky bottom. Before Mason had come back from his sister-in-law’s home, Rio had used the pickup’s winch to pull out sage clumps, piñon, and juniper. In the end he had managed to hammer out a rough track that allowed the pickup truck to get up into the canyon. The track would turn to glue and quicksand with the first real rains, but there wasn’t time or money to build a better road.

If Rio had to, he would camp out here and bring supplies in on horseback. He had slept in worse places in the past. He would sleep in worse places in the future. When you were drilling wells, comfort wasn’t on the list of necessary supplies.

He parked the pickup beside the stark angles of the old derrick he would use as a drilling tower. Small, battered, rusted, the derrick wasn’t much to look at. But it was sturdy. He had used it at some god-awful sites, places where even a professional optimist would have laughed at the thought of water.

That ugly old derrick had brought in well after well.

The other drilling machinery he had to work with wasn’t any more impressive than the derrick. He had built this rig from cannibalized parts of other rigs that had been tossed away and forgotten in Hope’s barn, plus equipment he had scrounged in countless other barns during his travels around the West. The new pieces Hope had bought to make it all fit together stood out like dimes on a dirt floor, making everything else look even more shabby by comparison.

“Good thing this ain’t no beauty contest,” Mason said, climbing down out of the truck. “We’d lose sure as God made little green apples.”

Rio’s only answer was a grunt as he carried supplies out of the truck and over to the drill site.

Even though the three of them worked quickly, it seemed like forever to Hope before everything was in place and Rio was ready to start drilling. She all but danced with impatience when he started up the engine that would drive the drill. The sudden explosion of sound was shocking in the canyon’s sunny silence.

When Rio saw Hope flinch at the racket, he went over to her and said loudly, “You get used to it after a while.”

“Yes,” she retorted. “It’s called going deaf.”

He laughed and his long arms reached out, lifting her up level with him. “Give me a kiss for luck and then go over to the board and throw the number-one switch.”

Eyes sparkling with excitement, Hope wrapped her arms around Rio and gave him a kiss that made him ache to be alone with her. Everything about her called out to him—her sensual riches, her serene silences, her determination, her intelligence.

Hope felt the same way about Rio. She loved being close to him, talking with him, being silent with him. He was a river flowing through her, bringing life to everything he touched.

Slowly, hungrily, Rio let Hope slide down his body. Reluctantly he opened his arms and let go of her.

She took a broken breath, feeling almost disoriented. Then she shook herself and went to the board attached to the derrick. Lights, dials, switches, gauges, and a tangle of wires took the pulse and temperature of the drilling equipment. She located the number-one switch and looked over her shoulder at Rio.

He was standing braced, leather-gloved hands steadying the mechanism that controlled the alloy drill bit. He looked up at her and nodded.

Her hand swept down and power surged into the drill.

The bit turned rapidly, making an odd, high noise. Then it touched the ground, biting into it with a grating sound. The soil was alluvial, loose. It wasn’t long before the drill vanished, pulling pipe after it.

Rio looked up from the drill, smiled quickly, and gave the board a swift, casual glance. He didn’t really need to look at gauges and dials to know that everything was working properly. He went by the sound of the engine, the vibration of the drill, the feel of the equipment.

He knew that the first part of drilling would be the fastest, the easiest, and the most rewarding work right up until the instant water was struck. Other than the occasional huge boulder, the bit wouldn’t have to chew through anything hefty until it reached an underlying layer of hard rock.