“You want more than that, Freddy.” His lips met hers in soft supplication. All the reasons that she shouldn’t be doing this abandoned her with the first touch of those persuasive lips. The slightest feathering of his tongue gained him access to her mouth as she moaned in surrender. Cradling her head in both hands, he tasted her thoroughly. His kiss painted images of skin sliding against skin, of limbs entwined, of bodies thrusting as two become one.

  Desire streaked through her like fire through dry brush. She’d chastised herself about responding so readily in the pool, but this was worse. She wanted him with a ferocity that urged her to pull him down to the dusty floor of the desert, rid herself of her restricting clothes and open her thighs to receive all he offered.

  Breathing hard, he lifted his mouth from hers. She swayed, and he clasped her by the shoulders, holding her steady as much with his heated gaze as with the strength of his hands. “Open your blouse for me,” he murmured.

  She hesitated.

  “Please, Freddy.”

  She unbuttoned the cotton shirt with quivering fingers and pulled it from the waistband of her jeans. When the blouse hung open, he stroked down the swell of her breasts and almost negligently flipped the front catch on her bra. Her breath caught as he parted the material, grazing her nipples with his palms.

  His voice was husky. “I knew you’d look like this.” He tossed his hat to the ground and captured her breasts in both hands. Closing her eyes, she arched upward, anticipating the hot moisture of his mouth. When it came, she sighed with satisfaction and tunneled her fingers through his hair.

  Splaying his hand across her back, he held her steady for the onslaught of his lips and tongue and the gentle abrasion of his chin. Thought surrendered to sensation, logic to desire as she gave herself and delighted in the giving. Moistened with need, she begged softly for more.

  “Not here,” he whispered against her breast. Then, with a groan, he returned to her lips for a penetrating, mind-bending kiss.

  A firm bump from the side nearly sent them both toppling over. Wrenched apart by the near fall, they turned in unison and confronted Destiny standing two feet from them, his flanks heaving.

  “Go away,” Ry said, waving his hand.

  Destiny jerked his head up, but he remained where he was. Then he lowered his head and blew through his nostrils, spraying them.

  “Ugh.” Freddy wrinkled her nose and started mopping her breasts with the tail end of her shirt.

  “Let me,” Ry said, a trace of humor in his voice as he took the other end of her shirt and began a motion that was more caress than cleanup. “I thought you said he was well trained.”

  “That’s exactly why he’s standing there.” She struggled to breathe normally, but Ry’s touch made that difficult. “He’s supposed to return to the spot where he left his rider.”

  “And blow snot on him?”

  She smiled. “No, that’s Destiny’s specialty. I think he has springtime allergies.”

  “Remind me to buy him an antihistamine.” Ry put his hands under her elbows and lifted her to her feet. “In the meantime, let’s get out of the range of fire, go where we won’t be so rudely interrupted.”

  She drew in a deep breath. Destiny had given her a second chance to be rational and she had to take it.

  Ry gazed at her. “I see misgivings. Guess I’ll have to kiss them away.”

  “No.” She forced herself to step out of his embrace. “I think Destiny just saved us from making fools of ourselves.” Avoiding his eyes, she refastened her bra and started in on the buttons of her shirt.

  His frustration was evident as he put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground. He lifted his head. “I wouldn’t have made love to you on top of a cactus, if that’s what you were worried about.”

  She looked up at the soft gray of the sky, where Venus sparkled next to a sliver of moon. Tucking her shirt into her jeans, she turned and started back toward Maureen. ”It’s getting dark. We’d better go.”

  “Whoa, there, little filly.” He caught her arm and turned her to face him again. “Back up for those of us who don’t know the territory. A moment ago, you were begging me to love you, and now you’re shutting me out. I’m entitled to an explanation. Are you worried about what people will think?”

  “Not really. Around here, people mind their own business about things like that. No, the problem is with me.”

  He frowned.

  “If it doesn’t work out between us, the fallout could poison my whole existence at the ranch.”

  “It could also improve your existence at the ranch. Aren’t you willing to take a chance that it might?”

  She regarded him steadily. “No.”

  “My God but you’re protective of the status quo!”

  “You’re right. I don’t have your appetite for risk.” She paused. “But that might be because I’ve found something worth hanging on to.” She pulled from his grasp and walked to Maureen on unsteady legs. “We need to go. It’s getting dark.”

  The dusk-to-dawn light had snapped on by the time Freddy and Ry reached the corral. Freddy noticed that Leigh was back from team-roping practice, and as they rode up Leigh unloaded Pussywillow, one of her favorite mares, from the horse trailer. Freddy was glad for the company. The less time Freddy spent alone with Ry the better.

  Leigh waved a greeting and turned the gray mare into the corral. Then she wandered ever to the hitching post as Freddy and Ry dismounted. “Have a good ride?” she asked.

  “Ry decided to test-drive Destiny through a herd of critters,” Freddy said.

  Leigh gave Ry a startled look. “You stayed on him?”

  “No.” Ry swung down and tipped his hat back as he talked to Leigh. “And I’d like to arrange a few riding lessons, so I’m ready for him next time.”

  As they discussed scheduling, Freddy pretended to be engrossed in unsaddling Maureen, but her attention remained on Ry. She was amazed at how much he looked like a cowboy now. He’d picked up the mannerisms, the walk, even the aggressiveness of cowboy lovers, she thought as heat rose to her cheeks. She hauled the saddle and blanket into the wing to the right of the barn, an old stone structure reserved for the tack used by the hands. Equipment for the dudes was segregated and kept in the newer tin wing on the opposite side of the barn.

  As she started back out, Ry came through the door with Destiny’s saddle and blanket. Duane had sponsored Ry’s entry into the hands tack room. She moved aside to let him pass and then started out of the shed as he settled his blanket and saddle on a wooden stand.

  “Freddy.”

  She turned, and before she realized what he meant to do, he’d stepped forward and swept her into his arms. His lips came down quickly, stifling any possible protest, and in seconds he’d shattered her carefully built defenses.

  Then he released her. “Think about that,” he said. “I’m catching a ride up to the house with Leigh.”

  Long after he’d left the tack shed, Freddy stood in the same spot where he’d left her, fingers pressed to her love-sensitized mouth. Ry might be lacking riding skills, but his kiss needed no refinements whatsoever. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted a man, almost more than she’d ever wanted anything... including the ranch.

  Chapter Thirteen

  All the way back to the ranch house, Ry questioned Leigh about her team roping. The more he heard, the more he wanted to try it. Finally, he asked her if she’d teach him that, too.

  “Let’s improve your horsemanship first,” she said with a dry chuckle. “You have to learn to walk before you can run.”

  “How long do you think it will take before I can start learning team roping?”

  “Ambitious son-of-a-gun, aren’t you?”

  “Always have been, Leigh.”

  She nodded. “How are things going between you and my sister?”

  Ry gazed out the window into the darkness. “She doesn’t trust me.”

  “Should she?”

  He couldn’t answer that because he didn’t know the answer himself. He wouldn’t ever run out on a relationship, but that wasn’t the issue with Freddy. She wanted a guarantee that she’d always be able to live on her ranch, and he couldn’t promise her that. Life involved constant change. Invest too heavily in a certain future and you were bound to lose. He should know that more than anybody.

  Leigh parked at the side of the house where Duane was still working on the other ranch vehicles. Ry thanked her for the ride and left her there conferring with Duane about the state of her truck’s tires. A country line-dance lesson for the guests was in progress in the main room of the ranch house, the music and laughter spilling onto the wide front porch. A shadowy figure sat in a chair with another shadow at its feet. As Ry came closer, moonlight glinted off an aluminum walker next to the person in the cane chair.

  Ry’s boots clunked hollowly on the wooden porch as he crossed it — a nice sound. “Mind if I join you?” he asked Dexter.

  “Nope.”

  The neighboring cane chair creaked as Ry sat down, and the black-and-white dog raised his head. Dexter didn’t speak, just reached down and put a hand on the dog’s head.

  “Is he yours?” Ry asked.

  “Yep. A mare. No, a girl.”

  “The dog’s a female?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh. What’s her name?”

  “Don’t know. Used to know.”

  Ry wondered what it would be like to have once been the foreman of this ranch, the person in charge of everything, and now be reduced to mail runs, trips for ice cream and lots of porch time. On top of that, it would be an exquisite kind of hell to understand everything going on around you, yet be unable to communicate much of anything without a struggle.

  Dexter held up his left hand and pointed to his wedding ring. “Did you ever?”

  “Get married?”

  Dexter nodded.

  Ry settled back in the chair as the lively beat of the music competed with the steady chirp of crickets. The mingled sounds felt cozy. He relaxed his head against the ladder-back of the chair. “Yes,” he said. “I got married.”

  “Is it broken? I mean, no good?”

  “She died.”

  “Too bad. When?”

  “Eight years ago today. May 24.”

  Dexter was silent. Inside, the music ended, and someone laughed. The instructor said a few things, but Ry couldn’t make out the words. Then the music began again. “Five hundred—no—fifty. Fifty-two years,” Dexter said at last.

  Ry was beginning to get the hang of talking to Dexter and deciphering his cryptic messages. “That’s a long time to be married.”

  “Yep.”

  “I envy you that.”

  “Yep.”

  Ry allowed himself a rare moment of nostalgic longing. He hadn’t been raised to believe in roots and long-term relationships. His father’s job had required moving his family many times, and when Ry was fifteen his parents had divorced. Ry and Linda had occupied at least five apartments in their brief marriage, and they’d agreed to postpone having children until they were “settled.” Ry had always suspected they wanted to be sure they’d stay together before they took that drastic step.

  He’d never had an attic or a basement stuffed with years of collected memories, never had an “old neighborhood” to go back to. He’d prided himself on being pared down, flexible, eager for challenge and change. A marriage that lasted for fifty-two years was almost beyond his comprehension. If he married today, he’d have to live to be eighty-seven to accomplish that. His thoughts drifted to Freddy, whose image was never far from his mind. She was the sort of woman who would expect her marriage to last fifty years.

  “Dexter?” A woman came around the end of the house holding a glass in each hand. “Oh, is that you, Mr. McGuinnes?”

  He stood. “Please call me Ry, Belinda.”

  She mounted the porch steps slowly but surely. “Would you like some iced tea?” she asked, holding out the glass.

  He was pretty sure she’d intended one of the two iced teas for herself and that she’d expected to join Dexter on the porch. “Thanks, but I was about to go inside. It’s been a long day.”

  “If you’re sure,” she said in her musical voice. “I wouldn’t want to drive you away on such a lovely evening.”

  “Maybe tomorrow night I’ll be more awake and I can enjoy this porch as it should be enjoyed.” Sitting here with Freddy wouldn’t be a bad way to spend an evening.

  “Oh?” She paused in the act of handing Dexter his iced tea. “Doesn’t your plane leave tomorrow?”

  “I’ve decided to stay on a while longer.”

  “Good,” Dexter said.

  A pang of conscience assailed Ry as he said his goodnights and walked toward the front door. Dexter wouldn’t be so friendly if he knew Ry’s ultimate plans for the True Love. And Belinda wouldn’t be offering him glasses of iced tea. Duane wouldn’t have suggested bronc-riding lessons, and Leigh wouldn’t have agreed to help him improve his horse-handling skills. As for Freddy, she would have seen him impaled on a giant cactus before she would have given herself to him as she had tonight. He felt like a fraud, and he didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

  That night, while going over some figures on the office computer, Freddy noticed that the calendar page for the day seemed to be missing. She hunted around, even checked the wastebasket, but it was definitely gone. It wasn’t a big deal, except that it said something about the kind of person Ry was. She’d loaned him her office for the day, and apparently he’d made notes on her calendar. Then he’d torn off the page and taken it with him instead of writing his information on another sheet. It was either insensitive or secretive, and she didn’t much care for either trait. She’d been right to repel his advances, she thought as she turned off the computer for the night.

  Freddy spent the next few days staying out of Ry’s way. Strangely, considering his last kiss, he seemed to be avoiding her, too. Leigh worked with him first thing every morning, and he spent a good part of the day practicing what she’d taught him. During the brief glimpses Freddy had of him, she noticed how tanned his face had become and how his body, already lean, seemed tougher now.

  On one hot, cloudless day that heralded the blistering summer to come, she rode out with Duane to check a break in the barbed wire that Duane thought looked deliberately cut. One of the cattle had become tangled in a loose end and had required considerable doctoring.

  After assessing the damage, she had to agree with Duane that the wire had been cut.

  “Don’t you think you should tell Ry about all these things that have been happenin’ ‘round here?” Duane asked as they rode down the wide lane leading toward the corrals. “They’re mostly piddly stuff, but they add up. I don’t know if it’s the jinx or some harebrained kids tryin’ to be smart, but he should know he has a problem if the sale goes through.”

  “I’ll tell him, but my credibility isn’t too good these days. After all, I took him on that long trail ride just to get rid of him. Why wouldn’t I make up a bunch of incidents to scare him away?”

  Duane spat into the dirt. “Then I’ll back you up.”

  “You were in on that trail ride thing. He probably won’t believe you, either.”

  “Yes, he will, ‘cause he knows I changed my mind about him. ‘Course, we don’t know what them partners of his are like, but he’s okay. Having him own the True Love wouldn’t be so bad. I think I can talk him into havin’ a rodeo again.”

  “I don’t think so, Duane. He told me he thought the liability was too great.”

  “He said that?” Duane scowled. “And here I went and strung up the barrel for him, too.”

  “You’re teaching him to ride broncs? Talk about liability!”

  “He wants to. Says he wants to try a bull, too.”

  “My God, that’s insanity!”

  “He asked me not to tell you, but I been feelin’ bad about that, ‘cause I figured you should know. And now I find out he don’t want no rodeo. Maybe I jumped to conclusions about that greenhorn.”

  “Maybe we both did.” She glanced at Duane. “What were you thinking of putting him up on, Grateful Dead?”

  Duane shifted his chaw. “Come to think of it, I did mention that particular bull.”

  Her stomach twisted at the thought. “Duane, I’m sure you’ve been worried about this change of ownership, just like I have. So I have to ask. Was the bull riding just a way to make him hightail it back to New York?”

  Duane shook his head vigorously. “No, ma’am. I swear that wasn’t my idea originally. But now that I know he’s against the rodeo, it’s a thought, ain’t it?”

  “Absolutely not! The ranch doesn’t belong to him yet. He could still sue both me and Westridge.” Freddy told herself that was her chief concern. But a picture of Ry beneath the furious hooves of Grateful Dead kept spoiling her calm objectivity. A few riding lessons and a few turns on the bouncing barrel didn’t make somebody a rodeo cowboy, but Ry didn’t realize that.

  She heard the whooping and hollering before she and Duane rounded the bend leading to the corrals. “What the—?” She urged Maureen into a faster trot around the curve. Ahead of her, the hands sat on the top rail of the main corral cheering a wildly bucking bay and its determined rider. Her blood ran cold as she saw who was on board.

  “Oh, Lordy, he’s on Gutbuster,” Duane said.

  “Not for long.” Freddy leaped from her horse and threw the reins to Duane. “Hold Maureen,” she called as she ran toward the corral. She made it just as Gutbuster spun and showed his belly in his famous “sunfish” move.

  Ry rose in a graceful arc and came down with a sickening thud that plowed his shoulder into the trampled dirt.

  Freddy climbed the fence and shoved one of the hands aside as she jumped into the corral. “Somebody get that damned horse!” she cried as she ran toward Ry.

  He lay completely still on his side, his back to her. His cherished black hat rested brim-side up nearby. Fear closed her windpipe. Dropping to her knees, she pressed two fingers against his neck just as he rolled over, bumping into her knees.