Cowboys are Forever (16 page)

Marielle gasped in shock and pleasure when he lowered his mouth to the rosy peak of one nipple. He teased the hard, puckered tip until her entire breast felt engorged and throbbing. Moving across to the other, he took it into his mouth and suckled gently with sharp little tugs.

She nearly swooned with the sensations flooding her body. She clutched his shoulders, digging her fingers into the corded muscles, desperate to communicate her need and hunger. “Trey,” she moaned. The sound of her own voice and the entreaty in it startled her. Oh no, she though dazedly, she’d thrown herself at him in ways that no red-blooded man would ignore. Now she was literally begging him to have sex with her! Had the high altitude affected her mind? Evaporated her pride, her dignity, and her self-respect? Blinking rapidly, she struggled to rouse herself and rise through the towering waves of passion that submerged her … before she drowned. “Trey,” she said again, more forcefully.

He didn’t seem to be listening. His hands were at the button of her jeans. She almost panicked. What he was already doing felt so good that it would be nearly impossible to bring herself to make him stop. If he went any farther, her feeble willpower would dissolve entirely, and she’d go right back to begging him to take her again. She winced.

Marielle grabbed his head in both hands and wound her fingers through his thick shock of black hair. Trey—no doubt mistaking her actions for an excess of passion, she realized in alarm—murmured encouragement.

She yanked hard, forcedly jerking his head up and away from her bosom. He stared at her blankly, his dark eyes glazed and unseeing. “Stop!” she told him.

He looked at her stupidly. “Huh?”

Marielle stepped away from him hastily and smoothed her shirt down to cover her breasts. “This isn’t right,” she said weakly. “We have to stop. I’m sorry.”

They stared at each other mutely. Marielle felt flushed with shame and passion simultaneously. It became hard to look him in the eye. But she stood her ground and made herself face him. She watched as he made his way back through the fog of lust that had, until a minute ago, enveloped them both. His face lost its look of stunned incomprehension. His eyes narrowed.

She gulped apprehensively, wary of his wrath even though she felt that she’d earned it.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated simply.

Trey continued to gaze at her silently for a long moment. Then his expression cleared and to her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. He smiled at her, a smile so genuinely full of humor and affection that she couldn’t doubt its sincerity.

“Oh, Mari,” he told her, his voice tenderly mocking, “don’t apologize. You promised me a reward—and that beat the hell out of cookies.”

Marielle lay down the palette of watercolors she held and wiped off her brush before answering the insistent ringing of the telephone.

“Ho ho ho!” came her friends familiar voice through the wire. “Merry Christmas!”

“Samantha!” she cried happily. “Ditto! Did you get the Christmas present I sent you?”

“Yeah, and I
love
it, Mari. I really do. It’s wonderful. I’ve hung it over my sofa where I can see it as soon as I come through my front door,” Samantha replied.

Mari pinked up with pleasure at the compliment. She’d done a watercolor of the ranch and had tried hard to capture the grandeur of the mountains in the background of the painting, wanting Sam to feel some of the beauty and awe that she herself felt every time she looked around.

“Thanks, Sam. It’s no masterpiece. But you’ve always been one of my most loyal fans,” she teased.

“Marielle,” Samantha told her. “It
is
wonderful. You’ve got a special talent, and I know you’ll sell your illustrations. You’ll be rich and famous someday,” she continued, “and I can say I knew you when.”

Marielle laughed, amused and touched by her friend’s staunch support. “Keep talking,” she said, laughing. “I hope you’re right. I don’t care if I’m never rich and famous. I’ll settle for enough work to keep body and soul together up here on my mountain.

“I hate to think of you spending Christmas all alone up there, Mari. Maybe you should have gone on that holiday cruise with your mom and Bill. Didn’t she offer to pay your way?”

“Yeah, she did, and I appreciate it. But I’ve got a deadline on submitting these samples of my work to Theda Barrett. You know, she’s one of the most highly regarded authors of children’s books in the country. If I contract for a whole series, I’ll be sure of a steady income for several years—plus I’d gain a lot of recognition.” Marielle paused, then chuckled. “Besides, Sam, I didn’t want to horn in on Mom and Bill’s cruise. The way Mom talked, that ship would be their very own
Love Boat.”

Both girls giggled. “Boy, your mother sure came out of her shell when she married Bill, didn’t she?” Samantha commented wryly.

Marielle agreed. It was true. Her mother had always seemed to devote her entire existence solely to the needs of her husband and child. She’d had few outside interests even before Dad died, preferring to spend her days puttering around the house or yard. With Dad’s death, Marielle recalled, Mom’s world had narrowed even more and she’d become a virtual hermit. But not anymore. Now she and Bill seemed to enjoy a whirl of activity, socializing and taking frequent trips, like the cruise they were on now.

“Yes, Mom has emerged from her cocoon and become a social butterfly,” she told Samantha laughingly. “Who’d have believed it, Sammy?”

“Well, as the song says—ain’t it shocking what love can do?” was Samantha’s reply. “Or so I hear anyway. I’d like to find out for myself, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. If falling in love can completely change a person … I’m not sure that would necessarily be a good thing” Marielle answered thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?”

Marielle hesitated before replying. She wasn’t sure herself exactly what she meant. “Well, in Mom’s case it was a change for the better. But I’ve seen women who had thriving careers and interesting lives get married and turn into nobodies, afraid to say boo to their husbands.” She thought of the perfect example. “You know, Sam, like Teresa Nichols,” she said, referring to a mutual friend.

“Oh, yeah. Poor Teresa,” Sam said pityingly. She did do a turnaround, didn’t she? I ran into her a few months back and we had lunch. My gosh, it was hard to believe that she was the same person as that high-spirited, opinionated girl we used to know.” Samantha giggled naughtily. “All she talked about was her husband what’s-his-name—”

“Donald,” Marielle supplied dryly, laughing. “How could you forget? She begins every sentence with ‘Donald says’ or ‘Donald thinks’. I swear, I don’t think the poor creature has had an original thought since she said ‘I do.’”

“It is pretty discouraging,” Samantha agreed. “But, come on, Mari, it doesn’t have to be that way. Love can bring out the best in people; cause them to realize their full potential in lots of ways. It doesn’t mean that you’d automatically turn into a domestic robot.”

Marielle agreed, with private reservations, and then went on to chat with Samantha about what had been happening in both their lives.

“Mari,” Sam told her, “it sounds great and I can’t wait to come see you up there. But I still don’t like the idea of your spending Christmas alone.”

“Actually, Samantha, I’m not.” Marielle said. “I’m spending it at Trey’s house.”

“Oh,” Sam replied, her tone loaded with meaning. “I see. That’s different.” She snickered. “Maybe he’ll dress up like Santa Claus, and you can sit on his lap and tell him what you want—”

“Shut up Sam!” But Marielle had to smile.

Later that day, Marielle looked around the table where she’d joined Trey and all his employees for Christmas dinner. They all agreed that Consuelo had outdone herself on the meal, and were unanimous in declaring that they couldn’t eat another bite.

Trey moved then to adjourn to the great room and they trooped into the huge space with its thick walls of rough hewn timbers and comfortable furniture. A log fire crackled merrily in the massive stone fireplace. A brightly bedecked and festooned Christmas tree held the place of honor. Standing tall in front of a big picture window, its top brushed the vaulted ceiling.

Marielle settle into a wing chair close to the fire and gazed into the flames contentedly. Samantha needn’t have worried about her, she decided happily. She wasn’t spending Christmas alone.

She watched Trey standing by the tree talking to Bandy and some of the boys. Just looking at him made her pulse flutter. She’d never met a man who had such an effect on her. And that was nothing compared to the effect he had on her up close. Or when he touched her, she mused. His caress caused her whole body to react, including her heart. Her heart and—she suppressed a naughty giggle—certain other vital organs.

She didn’t care whether he dressed up like Santa Claus or not. She’d still like to sit in his lap.

“Hey Marielle,” Trey called to her. “Come on, we’re going to open gifts now.”

She got up and went to join the group assembled around the huge tree. Marielle was touched to discover that all the men and Consuelo had pooled their money to buy her a pair of new insulated boots, and thanked them profusely.

“We had Consuelo check your shoe size the last time you were over here and left them hiking boots you wear by the front door,” Bandy explained, grinning. “Now for Pete’s sake, girl, throw Dan’s old clodhoppers away since you got some that’ll fit!”

Marielle joined in the good natured laughter that followed this remark. She was glad that she’d taken the time to bake the big box full of assorted cookies and cheese stars for the bunkhouse. Though new to cooking, she had discovered a heretofore hidden knack and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Consuelo, too, was thrilled with the gossamer silk scarf that Marielle had deputized Samantha to buy and send from New York for the older woman. The housekeeper’s hands stroked the delicate material almost reverently, her plump face shining with pleasure.

Marielle watched expectantly as Trey opened the package which contained her present to him, a small oil painting, of him the way he’d looked the morning they’d moved the sheep—astride his big black stallion, man and horse silhouetted against the mountains in the horizon, gilded by the morning sun. She’d worked from memory and tried to capture some of the essence of Peter J. Masterson III … .his air of quiet authority, rugged masculinity and easy accord with the place and the life he chose to live.

He removed the wrapping paper and simply stood in silence, staring at the painting. Marielle held her breath. She hoped he liked it. Finally, he spoke. “Marielle, it’s wonderful. I mean that. I’m … .I’m honored.”

His voice rang with sincerity. Their eyes met and Marielle saw that his were filled with something akin to awe. Her heart did a crazy somersault of joy.

Everyone exclaimed over the painting, praising Marielle extravagantly on her work. Bandy eyed it closely then stepped back and subjected Trey to a close scrutiny.

“Yep, boss,” the wizened foreman said sagely, nodding. “Miss Mari is one fine artist.” He winked broadly at his companions. “Anybody that could paint a picture and make a lanky cowboy like you look good—now that’s real talent!” Trey chuckled along with the others at Bandy’s tongue-in-cheek observation.

At a signal from Trey, one of the ranch hands left the room while they finished opening gifts. He came back bearing a large, bulky package, and set it down at Marielle’s feet.