The Littlest Cowboy (21 page)

“I think I might be–”

“Don’t.” She pulled free of him and turned back to her patient mount, pulling the bridle off the way Garrett had done with Duke. “Not yet, Garrett. I’m not ready.”

“Okay.”

She faced him, bridle dangling from one hand. “Okay? That’s it?”

“Yep.”

Her eyes were wary, then relaxed and maybe even just a little bit grateful.

He slung an arm around her shoulders and walked her along a trail, leaving the horses to graze. “Come here. I want to show you something.’’

Chelsea walked along beside him, and he thought she seemed a little better since coming out here. Maybe this would help. “What are you going to show me?”

“This.” He led her around the last tree and waved an arm toward the huge pond that filled what was once just a small valley before Garrett and his brothers had diverted a tiny stream to fill it. The shore was grassy and level, and she took a deep breath, eyes glittering, lips curving.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too. Until I saw you.”

She blushed a pretty shade of pink, and Garrett felt his chest swell a little. Maybe he didn’t need Jessi and her silly cards after all.

“You know the other night, all that candlelight and wine and crystal and china?”

She lifted her brows, nodded.

Garrett cleared his throat. “Well, uh, none of that was me. I mean, it wasn’t….genuine. You know?”

“I think so.”

He nodded toward the pond again. “This is me.”

Her eyes narrowed a little, but she nodded.

Garrett let the saddlebags slide from his shoulder to the ground. He hunkered down, unfastened the straps and opened them up. Then he pulled out a folded gray-and-white checkered tablecloth, took it by the edges and gave it a shake.

Smiling, Chelsea grabbed the opposite edges and helped him settle the cloth smoothly over the grass. Then she sat on it, curling her legs underneath her.

Garrett allowed himself the pleasure of watching her sit, then dived back into the bags for the paper plates and plastic utensils. Then a big Tupperware bowl full of cold fried chicken and another one with leftover chili, and one with fresh tossed salad. A canteen filled with iced tea, and two plastic tumblers. Some pita bread, some cheese, and a saltshaker.

By the time he finished, Chelsea was laughing very softly, and he slanted her a sideways glance. “What?”

She shook her head. “Just wondering if you left anything at all in the fridge for the others.”

He grinned at her. “I only took as much as I could carry.” He continued arranging the food on the blanket. Then sat back, surveyed it and nodded once. “See this spread?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“This is me. I’d a hundred times rather have a picnic under the sky than a fancy-schmancy candlelight dinner indoors.”

“Oh.”

Holding his plastic cup in one hand, he poured it full of iced tea with the other. Then he held the cup up. “See this?”

She nodded. “Is that you, too?”

“Uh-huh. Nothing comes close when the sun’s been beating down for days on end. I don’t even like wine. I wouldn’t know a blush from a rosé, nor would I care to. Don’t know which kind you’d have with chicken. Don’t rightly give a damn, either. Give me a tall glass of good, sweet water, or some iced tea, or an ice-cold beer on occasion, and I’m a happy man.”

“I see.”

Garrett handed her the glass of tea and filled another for himself. He swallowed it in one gulp. Then he reached into one of the bags and pulled out a little portable radio. He flicked it on. Mellow country music came from the tiny speaker. Whining steel guitar, then some fiddle, and a plaintive voice that could break a heart.

“Hear that?”

She smiled. “Not really a Bryan Adams fan, are you?”

Shaking his head, he frowned and said, “Well, actually, that song we were dancing to the other night began to grow on me. But this is what I’d have picked.” He reached down and snapped the radio off. “Or maybe not. Cause this is the real music.” She frowned. He held up a hand. “Shhh. Just listen.”

He knew she was doing what he told her. And he was glad. He watched her pick out the sounds one by one. The gentle grinding sound the horses made as they chewed grass. The lapping of the pond when the breeze pushed at it. The occasional banjo strum of a bullfrog. The birds. The rustling leaves. The horses, moving their hoofs against the grass. The whirring wings of a dragonfly. All of it.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “This is the real music.”

He sat there, stared at her and was plunged into a depth of longing he’d never experienced in his life. Her eyes closed. Her head tilted as she listened, and the slight breeze wafted through her hair, like invisible fingers threading through it to feel its silkiness.

It occurred to Garrett that she belonged here. Right here, right in this very spot. It was as if it had been created just for her. And she belonged in this family. She was good for them. She saw things he couldn’t see, hadn’t seen. And something else occurred to him, too. Something that made him feel like he was coming down with a bad stomach virus.

C
helsea opened her eyes only to see Garrett looking a bit sickly. His face had gone unusually pale, and his eyes looked unfocused and distant, maybe a little shell-shocked.

“Anything wrong?”

“What? Uh, no, nothing’s…I’m fine. Here, have some chicken before it gets cold.” He pushed the bowl toward her.

Chelsea grinned. “Garrett, it already is cold.”

“Oh. Yeah, right.” He yanked out a drumstick, looked at it and grimaced.

“Are you sick or something?” She felt a new worry creeping up on her. He really didn’t look well, and she thought of all the smoke he’d inhaled and wondered if he might be having some delayed reaction to it.

“Probably just a stomach bug,” he said, and set the chicken down on his plate. He refilled his glass and took another swig of iced tea. “You go ahead. Don’t want all this food to go to waste.”

Chelsea frowned at him, but helped herself to a bit of everything and ate. Garrett mostly shoved food around on his paper plate and watched her. He took a bite or two, but looked as if he were eating cardboard sandwiches filled with sand. Chelsea had witnessed this man’s appetite firsthand. He did not pick at food. He inhaled it.

She finished eating and started cleaning up. Garrett’s hand covered hers, stopping her. “Let me get that.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” She went on with what she’d been doing. Garrett finally shrugged and joined in. When everything was packed away, she stood and stretched, gazing out at the pond again. She’d like to take a closer look, but if Garrett didn’t feel well….

“Pull off your shoes, Chelsea. Put your feet in.”

“But you’re sick.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Go on. Coming out here and being with you is the best medicine for what ails me.”

She met his eyes, but he blinked and looked away. Chelsea shrugged and sat down, pulled off her shoes and socks and rolled up the legs of her jeans. Then she walked slowly toward the water’s edge.

She stuck one foot–the one that was no longer bandaged and sore–in the cool water, down onto the smooth pebbles at the bottom. Something slippery brushed her ankle and she jumped backward with a gasp.

Garrett’s booming laugh reached her just before he did. “Just a little fish, Chelsea. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little fish. Didn’t you ever swim in a pond before?”

She slanted him a narrow-eyed glare. “No. Only pools where you can see all the way to the bottom.” She glanced warily at the water again. “What else is in here?”

He shrugged. “A few frogs. Maybe a mud turtle or two.”

“Turtles?” She took another step backward.

“Nothing that will hurt you, Chelsea.”

She turned slowly, tilting her head. “You sure?”

“Nothing’s ever gonna hurt you. Not when you’re with me.”

Only, she wasn’t going to be with him much longer, was she? She bit her lower lip, let her chin drop down. He came closer, caught it and lifted it again. His brown eyes scanned her face. Chelsea stared up into them. Then at his lips. She wanted to kiss him more than she’d ever wanted anything. The knowledge surprised her. He’d kissed her, yes. He’d even asked permission to kiss her, and she’d given it. But for her to want to touch his mouth with hers badly enough to take the initiative was something entirely foreign to her. Hadn’t she decided the touch of a man was something she could live without? Something she didn’t need? She needed it now.

And he knew. She could tell he knew. Because his eyes darkened as they plumbed the depths of hers. But he didn’t move. Just stood there, waiting, the picture of patience and kindness and understanding. But with his eyes, he spoke to her, encouraged, invited, even dared. And without a word, he drew her closer. A force beyond understanding pulled at her, until she stood on tiptoe and lifted her face to his, then fitted her mouth to his and tasted his lips.

They trembled so slightly she barely felt it. A faint ripple seemed to emanate from somewhere deep inside his big body and from his lips to hers, and then it echoed right to her soul. Her hands slid up his chest to curl around his neck, and Garrett bowed over her, gathered her close and moaned deeply and softly as he kissed her. She parted her lips to him, and he touched her with his tongue, tentatively at first, then boldly, probing her mouth in tender strokes that sent fire searing down into her spine and weakened her knees.

His lips slid over her mouth, skimming her cheek and jawline, then the hollows underneath. She shivered, letting her head fall backward to ease the way for his explorations. He kissed a path down the column of her throat, nuzzled the collar of her blouse out of the way, then tasted the skin over her collarbone and along the top of her shoulder. His hands pressed flat to her back, and he kissed the uppermost curve of her breasts and the spot in between them. Then he trailed hot, wet kisses up the front of her, not missing an inch of skin on the trip to her mouth. His hands slid upward, tangling in her hair. Chelsea ached with a burning need she’d never felt for any man. A need she’d vowed she never would feel.

She kissed him back, not wanting this forbidden feeling to end. Not ever. When his mouth left hers again, she moved over his throat the way he had moved over hers. She felt every corded muscle under her lips. She tasted the salt of his skin. His pulse thudded wildly against her mouth, filling her and melding with her own rapid heartbeat until she couldn’t distinguish one from the other. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

His hands rose to cup her head, and gently he pulled her away. He was breathing rapidly now, and all of his color had come back and then some.

“Chelsea, if we don’t stop–”

“I don’t want to stop,” she blurted, surprised she’d said it so fast. But it was like that with Garrett. She could say anything to him and know he wouldn’t laugh at her or use the knowledge against her. He wasn’t that kind of man.

“What do you want?”

Her answer was to crush herself against his chest and lift her head in search of his lips once more. He didn’t hesitate to answer her quest. As he kissed her, he slipped his arms underneath her and lifted her up. Still kissing her, holding her, cradling her in his strength, he took long strides, bending once to snatch up the checkered tablecloth, then continuing along the shore. When she felt the sun’s absence from her heated flesh, she opened her eyes to see a small cluster of scraggly trees surrounding a blanket of grass. He let the tablecloth fall and lowered her on top of it. He knelt beside her, bent over her and kissed her mouth some more. As if feeding on it, he drew on her tongue and lips as if they tasted sweeter than honey. A sweetness he craved. Hurriedly, he smoothed out the cloth before he lay down beside her, wrapped her in his arms and gently eased her off the hard ground until she lay only on his body.

The sensation was intense. The rugged length of him beneath her. Her breasts crushed to his chest. His hands slipped up underneath her shirt, roughened palms sliding over the skin of her back, up to her shoulders to pull her closer. Hold her tighter. Lick more deeply into her mouth. Let her more deeply into his. Still, it wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel his flesh. She wanted to be naked with him. She wanted him inside her.

She braced herself up with one hand, tugged at the buttons of his shirt with the other. Her hurried movements made her clumsy. His big hand covered hers.

“Easy. It’s all right, beautiful Chelsea. We have all night.”

She met his blazing hot gaze, nodded once and tried again to free a button. His hand remained on top of hers, eyes locked with hers, as she released it and moved lower to the next and then the next. When the last button was freed, she pushed his shirt open, ran her hand over his muscled chest and felt the fine hairs there tickling her palm. She ran her fingertips over his nipple, and he clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth. A rush of desire surged through her at the way his face changed just by her touch. She wanted more of that, so she scratched gently at his nipple with her nails, and he closed his eyes, drew three quick, openmouthed breaths.