Scout's Honor (17 page)

Sweet tenderness unlike any she’d ever known
engulfed her as they trembled in each other’s arms. A lazy smile of
fulfillment curved her mouth. He responded with a crooked grin as
her fingers traced the golden lines of his face.

“I love you . . . Shh . . . Don’t move,” he
whispered against her lips before burying his head in the curve of
her neck.

She lay quietly, reveling in the warm
pressure of his body, until his reason for remaining still became
sensually clear. He filled her again, his movements slow and
deliberate until she quickened to his touch and once again reached
for the stars.

* * *

Afternoon bathed them in a gentle light,
warming them with the sunshine streaming through the window. Anna
refused to think, refused to regret the memories they’d made. This
day would be cherished all her life.

A low chuckle rumbled across her shoulder
where Mitch was kissing her.

“What’s so funny?” She bent her head and
playfully nipped his ear.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her on
top of him, smiling mischievously. “Nothing funny. You just feel so
damn good. Making love with you is incredible
.”
He gnawed her jaw up to her ear. “Let’s go home.”

Despite agreeing with everything he’d said,
his last words sounded
a cold knell of reality in her heart. “Mitch . . .”

“I know, Anna.” He continued kissing her ear
. “Don’t be afraid of hurting me. I’m
a big boy. I understand that making love, being in love, doesn’t
change the world. Not until you trust love—and you don’t. Let’s
just take what we can.”

Anna felt a disconcerting wave of déjà vu.
He could read her mind, she was sure of it.

He cupped her face in his hands, raising her
head so she would look into his eyes. “Okay, boss?”

“Okay, scout,” she whispered.

“You want to go fishing?”

She laughed as she rolled off him and sat on
the edge of the bed. She pulled on her jeans and gave him a sly
look over her shoulder. “Is fishing another one of your best
things?”

“No doubt about it. I’m the best.” He sat up
next to her and reached for his jeans.

That you are, Mitch, she thought, thinking
of his care-filled lovemaking.

* * *

Anna finished wrapping the peanut butter
sandwiches and grabbed a couple of pops out of the refrigerator.
Her body was still glowing in the aftermath of Mitch’s loving. It
had been a long time since she’d felt so much like a woman. She
wished it could last forever, but she wouldn’t think about leaving
today, not while she felt so good.

Banishing the taboo thoughts, she searched
through the cupboards for a bag of chips and some cookies.
Breakfast had been a lifetime ago. She packed everything in a
grocery bag and headed out the front door.

Mitch was waiting for her on the tailgate of
the pickup, sorting through tackle boxes and fishing rods. He
looked like an advertisement for a fishing-supply company, and Anna
couldn’t stifle a giggle as she approached.

“What is all that stuff?” she asked,
gesturing at the layers of paraphernalia hanging off his body.

“Well,” he said as he slipped off the back
of the truck, “you’ve got your basic Class A fishing vest, complete
with fly patch, various and sundry pockets to hold your basic Class
A tackle, D rings for pliers, scissors, and your handy-dandy
whip-out floatant.” He zinged the small container out and let it
snap back against the vest.

She put her hand over her mouth, hiding a
smile. “What’s this?” she asked, pointing to a brass pen-shaped
object curved over his pocket.

“That’s my flashlight.” He flipped the tiny
light on and off.

“Cutest flashlight I’ve ever seen.”

“Cute? This is all professional equipment,
the cutting edge of fishing technology.”

“I guess that’s a net hanging down your
back. Not the best place for it, I’d imagine,” she said
teasingly.

“Oh, yeah? Watch this.” He rolled his
shoulders and twitched his fingers, looking like an old-time
gunslinger. Then he dropped to a crouch and whipped the net around
from behind.

Anna burst into laughter as she jumped out
of reach of his six-shooting net. “You’re crazy.”

He pulled himself up straight and swaggered
over to her. “Crazy about you, ma’am,” he drawled, tipping his
cowboy hat back. “Crazy about those big gray eyes. Crazy about that
so-sweet mouth, and getting real fond of this spot right here.” His
hands slipped beneath her shirt and over her breasts.

She leaned into his body, parting her lips
as cascades of delight shimmered down her body.

The kiss tantalized her senses, reminding
them of the other pleasures he could give.

“You still want to go fishing?” he asked in
a husky voice, holding her in way that left no doubts about what he
wanted to do.

“You’re going to wear me out, boy scout, and
I’ll be good for nothing.”

“Nothing but loving.”

“Nothing but loving you,” she corrected him,
putting a few inches of distance between them. “I like these,” she
said, running her finger along the top of his thigh-high rubber
boots.

“Hip-waders turn you on, huh? I’ll have to
remember that.”

“I like the way they accentuate your . . .uh
. . .”

He grinned. “Yeah. And my . . . uh . . .
likes the way you do what you’re doing.”

“Uh-huh . . .” she murmured, her mouth
against his throat. “So are we going fishing here, or what?”

“I vote for ‘or what.’ ”

“But I’m the boss, and I vote for a little
fishing. Okay?”

“Okay, boss.” He released her and reached
for the fishing rods. “You carry the lunch and I’ll bring the
gear.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Don’t we
need to dig some worms or something?”

“We’re not using worms.” He slung a creel
over his shoulder and picked up the tackle box.

“Great.” She sighed in relief. “I thought I
was going to have to do something awful with worms.”

“We’re using flies.”

She blanched, her stomach doing a flip flop
while her face turned white. “Oh, ugh. I couldn’t, Mitch. I just
couldn’t. Squish those icky things on a hook?” Her hand fluttered
to her throat. “I can’t do it. No way. I don’t even want to watch
you do it.”

A broad grin split his face. “Honey, where
did you grow up?”

“Miami, and there are lots of flies there,
and believe me, Mitch, I’m not going to touch one, let alone impale
one on a fishing hook.”

“Come on over here, darlin’.” He turned back
to the tailgate and opened his tackle box. “Trust me, you’re going
to love these flies. Prettiest things you’ve ever seen. Scout’s
honor.”

She hesitated, frowning skeptically. Taking
two steps forward, she peered over his shoulder, prepared for the
worst.

The sight that met her eyes was far from the
crawly mess she’d envisioned. Neatly arrayed in individual
compartments was a variety of hooks with feathers and brightly
colored threads wrapped around them.

She wrinkled her brow. “Those are
flies?”

“Finest flies money can buy. I get a buck
apiece for them. This one’s an original.” He picked up a fly with
wiggly antennae on the
front and the
back. “I call it the Summers’s Bitch Creek, best
little old nymph there is.”

“And you make these?”

“Keeps gas in the truck and gets me a
discount at the sporting-goods store,” he explained with obvious
pride.

Anna felt a pang of sympathy even though she
knew it was misplaced and would certainly be unwelcome. She
couldn’t imagine working for gas money by making artificial flies
at a dollar a throw. She could probably buy the whole store with a
good week’s take at a poker table or with just the interest from a
year’s investments.

“They’re beautiful, Mitch,” she said, glad
she had managed to voice an appropriate comment.

“And they’re murder on the trout. Come on.
Let’s go catch some dinner.”

Anna pushed her sympathy aside and worked on
her enthusiasm as they headed down the dirt road. Mitch guided her
along the river, revealing the hidden pools and riffles where he
assured her the fish were waiting.

Patience, Anna decided, was another of
Mitch’s best things. He never seemed to run out of it, no matter
how many times she tangled her line in an overhanging pine tree or
snagged her fly in the underbrush. Despite his judgment, though,
she and fishing couldn’t seem to find a common ground. Finally she
gave the fish a break and sat down on the bank to indulge in the
pleasanter pastime of watching Mitch.

For the first time since she’d met him she
felt she wasn’t the focal point of his attention. Every graceful
cast commanded and received his total concentration. Broken nose
and all, he was beautiful. Knee-deep in the river, with sunshine
catching the lean angles of his face, and his skilled hands playing
the line out in easy sweeps, he was a sight to behold, a man in his
element. And she was a woman out of hers, a small spot of
sophisticated civilization amidst the miles of wilderness. Odds
were, no other hundred-dollar pair of jeans had graced this
particular stretch of riverbank. Being with Mitch was an escape
from reality, a reality that sooner or later would draw her back to
fast-paced casinos and a nomadic lifestyle. She would take this
time, but she refused to fool herself with dreams of forever.

An incredulous smile curved her mouth when
she heard him talking to the fish, telling the undersized ones they
were going to be fine as he let them go, telling the keepers how
beautiful they were.
No
, she thought,
I’ve never known
anyone quite like you, Mitch Summers, scout’s honor.

When the rosy hues of dusk layered over the
landscape, Mitch climbed out of the river. He carried their dinner
on a stringer, only two of the many rainbows he’d caught. Arm in
arm, they walked through the sunset back to the ranch house.

The tantalizing aroma of pan-fried trout
teased Anna’s hunger as she set the table with Mitch’s mismatched
china. A piece of this, a piece of that, and she knew each one had
a story to tell. For her wedding she had received twelve place
settings of Limoges, but they had all been returned. She guessed
there was a story to tell in that, too, and she wondered if she
would ever tell Mitch, if there would be time for such
confidences.

He came up behind her, placing a kiss on the
back of her neck as he set the platter of fish on the table. “Sorry
you got skunked today. We can try it again at dawn . . . unless
you’ve got other plans.”

She turned in his arms and returned his
kiss. “I think I’m booked for sunrise.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” he drawled. “A lot
of sunrises.”

She hugged him, loving the strength of his
back and the arms holding her close. “We’d better eat before the
fish get cold.”

“You’re the boss,” he said reluctantly.

During dinner they talked business, with
Mitch explaining how the split worked on the fishing lease. When he
asked if she wanted him to book her cabin for next season or if
she’d be using it, a chilly silence descended. His question cut
right to the quick of their tenuous relationship.

“Let’s not talk about it now, scout.
Remember, we’re going to take what we can, no strings. Only loving
for as long as it can last.”

He reached for her hand across the table,
caressing her fingers with his thumb. “I lied, Anna. I’m not going
to let you go without a fight.”

Rather than balk at his possessive
intentions, Anna felt a surprising thrill, a dangerous
relinquishing of her heart. Smiling inwardly, she pushed away from
the table. She was easy prey for those soft brown eyes, and he knew
it. Time to turn the tables, she thought.

“I’ll do the dishes if you’ll start a fire.
And then” —she smiled brightly, too brightly to deceive anyone who
knew her—“maybe we can play a few hands of cards.”

“A few hands of cards, huh? You mean like
Old Maid and Go Fish?” A skeptical twinkle lit his eyes.

She let her hips sway as she walked toward
the sink, stopping only to give him a sultry look over her
shoulder. “Pokah, honey,” she said in her best Mae West
imitation.

She had definitely gotten his attention with
her husky voice and come-hither look. He tilted his chair back
against the wall, his eyes darkening with appreciation as she
continued her sashay to the kitchen.

“Sounds dangerous,” he said

“Strip . . . poker.”

“Real dangerous.” His voice rolled over her
like molasses. “But then, I’m a dangerous kinda guy.”

“I’ve seen you in action, scout. I think I
can handle any danger you want to pass out.”

“I don’t know. You might want to bundle up a
little. You’ve never seen me play when the stakes are this . . .
attractive.”

A confident laugh bubbled from her throat as
she looked at him from beneath sooty lashes. “I’ll take my
chances.”

She didn’t doubt for a minute that she would
take him for every stitch he had on and still be fully clothed. His
sweet face couldn’t hide a pair of twos, let alone a winning
hand.

He walked up behind her, dropped their
plates in the dishwater, and slid his hands around her waist.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he sang in her ear before striding
over to the fireplace.

After the fire was going and the dishes were
done, Mitch started a pot of coffee. Anna sat cross-legged on the
Indian rug in front of the fireplace and began shuffling the cards.
They felt like home in her hands as she flipped them through her
fingers and rolled half a deck over the back of her hand.

“Trying to intimidate me?” Mitch asked,
sitting down with the coffee cups.

“Just letting you know what you’re in for,
scout. How about a little seven-card stud?”

“Baseball?” he requested, stretching his
legs out on either side of hers.