One Stubborn Cowboy (11 page)

Kit stood at the blanket's edge for a long time, considering how to get down. Damnation. He shouldn't have brought her. Should never have agreed to a picnic. First there was the problem of getting down. Then how would he get back up?

He turned away, considering the distance back to the truck. Maybe he'd just sit in there and forget...

"Are you scouting for Indians, or are you going to sit down here and eat?" she asked as she began drawing things from the brown bag. She spread a small tablecloth in the center of the blanket and drew out the sandwiches she'd made earlier. Opening the cooler, she withdrew the mayonnaise. She just had to coat the bread, and the sandwiches would be ready to eat.

"I'm not sure I can," Kit said, looking down at her.

Kelly understood instantly.

She stood slowly, brushing the crumbs from her fingertips and walking over to Kit. He was so tall standing there proudly, anger and bitterness shining from his face. It must be awful.

She stood up to him and met his gaze straight on.

"I'm only going to say this once."

"I don't want pity," he snapped.

She looked surprised, then nodded. "Okay. Try this on. Why did you bring me here?"

He stared down at her, unable to tell her he wanted to be with her, spend time with her. For a moment he forgot where they were. He could lose himself in those sparkling eyes of hers. Her silky white-blond hair tantalized him, enticed him to tangle his rough hands in it, comb the silky softness through his fingers. Her long brown legs tempted him in a different manner and it was all he could do to keep from saying it to her.

"You wanted to see the pony," he said at last.

"Yes, I did. Why did you bring me?"

"Who else would?"

"Why did you?" she persisted.

"Dammit, I don't know. I knew you wanted to use him in your story and thought you'd like to see him close up. I was just trying to help."

She smiled as if he'd just won first prize at the county fair. "Help me, huh?"

"Kelly, it isn't-"

"Kit Lockford, did you help me because you pity me?" She'd make a fine actress, he thought, studying her stricken look. Only the dancing lights in her eyes betrayed her.

"Dammit, Kelly, it's not—"

"Did you!" She pushed a sharp index finger against his chest, forcing him to answer her.

"No, of course not."

"Then I can help you sit down and get up and we'll get this picnic on the road." She tilted her head and stared at him as if daring him to defy what she'd said.

"I can get down all right. I can always just fall. It's getting back up I don't think I can do. And I'm too heavy for you to lift."

Her finger softened and two others joined it as she slid them between the gaps of his buttons. Lightly she stroked the heated skin of his chest, just an inch or two, but Kit felt as if his whole body was on fire for her.

"I'm very strong," she said softly, her eyes like liquid pools of deep blue water. Her voice a whisper, like the wind through the treetops on a summer day. He sighed. He was lost and he knew it. But he wouldn't let her know.

"All right. If you have to drive out by yourself and get Clint, it'll serve you right," he said, moving to the edge of the blanket.

Kelly thought he moved gracefully as he sank onto the blanket. He had some strength in his left leg, and used that to get down. She fixed the lunch and they ate companionably watching the pony graze, staring out over the rolling grasslands.

When they'd finished, he leaned back on his elbows to watch as Kelly drew out her sketch pad and began bringing the pony to life on the pages beneath her fingers. It was hot, dry and still. She was glad she'd brought so much soda. They'd both finished one with lunch and she already had a second.

"How come you never came to visit Margaret while she was alive?" he asked after a long time.

"I didn't know about her," she replied, filling in some of the background around the pony. Flipping to a clean sheet, she tried to capture the pony taking the apple.

"What do you mean? She left her house to you, didn't she? How could you not know her?"

"Actually, she left her house to my mother, or her issue. My mother died years ago, so according to the attorneys, I got it through her. She was Aunt Margaret's only niece."

Kelly put the pad down and turned a bit so she could see Kit as she talked to him. See exactly what his reactions were when she told him about herself. So far Molly Benson was the only one she'd told about her family. How would Kit feel?

"My mother wasn't married to my father. Her family cast her off before I was born. As far as I know, there was never any attempt made to heal the breach. That much I learned from the attorney when he located me. My mother died before I was four."

"Four? Where did you live?"

"An assortment of foster homes in and around San Francisco. The longest one was for three years. But then they got transferred and I was assigned to a different one."

She tried to keep the bleakness from her voice. She didn't want Kit's pity about her childhood any more than he wanted pity because of his physical limitations. But she could see from his look she'd not been successful.

He didn't say anything for a long moment. When he did speak, he surprised her. "So that's why you thought a large family was so special?" He'd remembered what she'd said.

She nodded. "One day I want to get married and have about fifteen children. I want to have a family around me, and... and feel like I belong somewhere." She'd never told anyone else about her desire to belong somewhere. Would he think she was foolish wishing to belong?

He nodded. "I can understand that. I've belonged here forever. I can't even imagine what it would have been like not to have both parents, all my aunts, uncles, grandparents. Cousins." He frowned. "Though I could use a few less cousins. You want some of mine?"

She smiled gently and shook her head. "I'll wait for my family, the one my husband's sure to have."

Kit looked away at that, an old familiar ache building in his chest. One day she'd find some man who would light up her face. She'd marry him and he'd kiss those soft lips, taste her skin, bring her to passion and ecstasy. And give her all the children she wanted. But it wouldn't be him.

He lay back and tilted his hat over his head. He didn't want to talk anymore. He didn't want to think about how soft she felt against him when he kissed her. How her kisses awakened his senses to a fever pitch he never remembered from before. And he sure as hell didn't want to think about another man having the right to love Kelly--to live with her--when he would still be alone.

Kelly watched for a moment, but Kit seemed to be going to sleep. She turned back to the pony and continued to draw him, studying how he was made, how he moved as he slowly walked along cropping the grass.

Flipping to a new page, Kelly shifted slightly on the blanket and smiled. Her pencil flew, sketching Kit sleeping, like an old-time cowboy, hat tilted to cover his face, long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. The dusty boots and hat were hard to capture. She did another sketch, this one from memory, of Kit leaning against the truck, arms crossed over his chest. She flushed slightly as she sketched over his jeans. Maybe she wouldn't be as accurate as she ought.

She studied the picture, pleased to see she'd captured the freedom and pride of her cowboy. Sighing gently, she closed the sketchbook and laid it beside her.

She looked over at Kit, wondering how long ago he had been injured. She moved the picnic things to the edge of the blanket and lay down near him, propping her head up on one hand, watching him. For a long moment Kelly tried to envision him as Molly had described him—wild, rowdy, fun loving. He was devilishly attractive, tall, sexy, virile. Kelly had no doubt he'd have set many hearts tripping faster when he rode into town.

For that matter, even now when he looked at her, her own heart began tripping faster. He was one sexy man. Did he know, she wondered?

Gently she pushed his hat away from his face, toppled it to the blanket on the far side.

Kit opened one eye a slit and looked at her.

"This is a fine picnic," Kelly said softly, her finger daringly tracing his eyebrow, down his cheek, tracing the strong line of his jaw. "My subject wanders away and my companion falls asleep."

"Didn't you realize you were that boring?" he asked lazily, capturing her hand in his, squeezing slightly.

"I am not boring!" she said indignantly.

He chuckled at her tone and rolled over on his side facing her. "No, that's true, Kelly, you're anything but boring."

He threaded his hand into the soft swirls of her hair, loosening the ponytail. He drew her face to his, his eyes watching her as he slowly moved her closer. She stared back, unafraid, unresisting. Twice her glance flicked to his lips and he almost felt as if she'd touched him. Finally her lids began to drift closed as he brought her to him.

His mouth was soft and tender as he nibbled against her lips, teasing for a response. When she inched closer and relaxed her lips, he parted them and plunged into the sweet darkness of her mouth.

Kelly moved closer, wanting his kiss to go on forever. His tongue excited her, built desire within to a fever pitch. His lips were magic against hers, drawing a deeper response than she'd ever known before. She moved to give him as much pleasure as he was giving her.

His hand moved slowly from her head, gently down her neck to her shoulder. Her hands reached for him, feeling the heat from his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt. Slowly she moved to the buttons, slipping them through the holes, wanting to feel his bare skin against her fingertips.

His hand moved down to the hem of her shirt, and slowly slipped beneath with feathery touches against her heated skin as his mouth continued its sweet assault. Kelly shivered in delight and paused in her own seeking as new sensations flooded through her, heat and fire and light and confusion, the wild delight of his touch awaking a long-dormant need deep inside.

His hand moved against her skin, the roughness of his hardened palms tracing gently over her silky skin. When he reached her unbound breasts she froze, suspended in anticipation, desire hot and fevered pulsing through her.

She trembled, her hand gripping the material of his shirt as she waited endless moments for his hand to touch her where she most wanted. His thumb brushed the soft underside of her breast. Kelly ached for more. She moaned softly in the back of her throat, shifting to let him know she wanted more.

Kit pulled back, breaking their kiss to gaze down at her as she slowly lifted her lids. He could see the blatant desire she couldn't conceal.

"Don't stop," she whispered, afraid he'd draw back, the moistness between her legs crying for attention, her breasts aching for his touch, her whole body aching for completion.

"I wasn't planning to," he said equally softly, his hand moving to engulf her breast, squeeze gently as his thumb brushed across her nipple, feeling the rigid tip, watching as the sexual pleasure flashed in her eyes. She moaned again and moved restlessly, wanting more, much more.

"Do you like that?" he asked, keenly aware of her pleasure. His thumb feathered across her again.

"Do it harder," she whispered, twisting and moving her hips in agitation.

Kit pushed her shirt up, exposing both breasts to his gaze, one still captured with his hand.

"God, Kelly, you're beautiful."

"Don't stop," she breathed again, rolling to her back, offering herself up to him, her hand tugging his shirt so that he moved with her.