Rough Wrangler, Tender Kisses Page 19

  Wade grinned down at her. “Night, sweet pea. Tomorrow I’ll take you home to Cloud Ranch. Show you around.”

  “Oh, boy!”

  He bent down and kissed the little girl lightly on the cheek. Then straightened and his glance settled on Caitlin. For a long moment neither of them looked away. Caitlin was all too aware of Becky’s small hand holding fast to hers, of the dim, quiet hall, of Wade’s warm, intent gaze. His eyes lingered, holding hers, as if loath to let her go. “G-good night,” she murmured at last as, beside her, Becky peered back and forth between them.

  “Sweet dreams, princess.”

  She felt dizzy as he pushed open the door for her. Somehow she made it inside, somehow she closed and locked the door, somehow she managed to pay attention to Becky’s happy chatter.

  She feared she would dream of Dominic Trent that night when she closed her eyes, but it was Wade Barclay who haunted her sleep. His gentle smile, deep, reassuring voice, and those keen hot blue eyes were imprinted on her mind.

  Don’t ever fall in love with a cowboy.

  It’s too late, Mrs. Casper, she whispered to herself in the deep indigo hours of the night. I’m beginning to fear I already have.

  Chapter 19

  For the next few days Caitlin managed to avoid Wade. She knew he wanted to question her about Dominic Trent, but she had no intention of discussing that unpleasant subject with him—Trent was her problem, and hers alone. Nor was she ready yet to face her own feelings for Wade, the man who had taken her place in this ranch house and in Reese Summers’s life. So she busied herself showing Becky around and helping her get acclimated to the ranch.

  She was surprised and pleased by the number of visitors who came to welcome her sister. Edna and Winnifred and several ladies from the Hope Sewing Circle stopped by with baskets filled with cookies and shortbread, Luanne brought the Morgensen twins, Katie and Bridget, to meet Becky, and Alice Tyler from the Crooked T Ranch arrived with a personal invitation for everyone in the household to attend the May Day dance that she and her husband held every year.

  And true to her word, Edna Weaver even planned a small dinner party in Becky’s honor and after dessert invited the girl to entertain everyone with a song. To Caitlin’s astonishment, her sister was only too happy to skip up to the pianoforte in the Weavers’ front parlor, and as Caitlin played, Becky sat beside her on the small bench with its embroidered cushion and in her clear sweet voice warbled “My Old Kentucky Home.”

  Even Francesca, who had never treated Caitlin with anything but polite reserve, beamed at Cloud Ranch’s newest guest and spent her afternoons baking all sorts of cakes and pies to tempt Becky’s appetite as she recovered from her fever.

  Through it all, Caitlin kept a nervous watch on the horizon. Each day she half expected a towering figure with strange colorless eyes to appear. Trent had made it all the way to Diamond Springs—why hadn’t he shown up on her doorstep yet?

  Twice she rode out and spent hours at shooting practice—one time with Jake Young, who always seemed like he wanted to say something to her, but kept forgetting what it was, and once with Dirk, who showed her not only how to aim and fire the shotgun, but also a small derringer that Wade gave her when they returned from Beaver Junction.

  “Keep it on you every day, and close by every night,” was all Wade said when he handed her the derringer.

  Dirk, who mentioned that as a gunfighter he had always kept at least two hideaway weapons on him at all times, gave her some useful tips on the use of the derringer as well.

  Since Nick had continued on after Becky was found, taking up his pursuit of the rustlers, it was only the three of them at the dining-room table each night. With Becky present, Wade avoided the topic of Dominic Trent. He actually spent most of the dinner hour entertaining Becky with stories of life on a ranch, of his boyhood with Nick and Clint, of the time Dawg had chased a bear up a tree.

  Caitlin couldn’t help being amazed at how easy and warm he was with her sister. She wanted to warn Becky not to take too much of a liking to Wade, or Dawg, or anything on Cloud Ranch since they wouldn’t be staying— but she couldn’t. She’d never seen Becky so happy and animated. The little sister who’d always seemed afraid of her own shadow had somehow, through her adventures in running away, burst out of her shell.

  It was on the third evening that Caitlin found herself alone in the kitchen several hours after tucking Becky into bed in the oak-floored guest room down the hall from her own. She sat at the table in her peach silk wrapper, staring at the cup of tea she’d brewed, but not once tasting it.

  Beyond the kitchen window, the night was soft and dark as a wool cloak. No stars lit the sky and a fuzzy half-moon flung blue shadows along the edges of the pines. From somewhere came the howl of a coyote. Another answered, then more joined in.

  Around her, the house was silent. Francesca had retired to her room, which overlooked the vegetable garden. Wade had been down to the bunkhouse playing cards earlier but she’d long since heard him come in, his boots thudding along the hall past her bedroom to his own. He, too, must have gone to bed.

  Even Dawg was sleeping in Reese’s study, on the rug under his desk. That was his favorite place to sleep, Wade had told her after she’d first arrived at Cloud Ranch. Reese had always to take a care not to step on him when he rose from the desk, but Dawg had dozed without a care, full of implicit trust that his sleep would be undisturbed.

  Trust.

  Dawg had trusted his master. Reese had trusted Wade to take care of her—and the ranch. She didn’t trust anyone in the world—except Becky.

  Or did she? She stared at the cup of tea, remembering how instinctively she had run to find Wade when she learned Becky was missing. How she had watched him ride along that ridge when the rustlers had been shooting at her, knowing in that instant she was safe. How she’d let him kiss her, touch her, hold her as if he’d never let her go—even when her brain had screamed at her to run away.

  The tea had been sitting before her for nearly a quarter of an hour and she had yet to take a sip.

  It would be cold by now.

  When she heard the footfall behind her, she didn’t turn around. She knew without looking who was there.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  Wade’s deep voice was as quiet and steady as always. The sound of it made her stomach flutter, her breasts ache.

  “Something like that.” Her voice came out lower, huskier than she intended. She cleared her throat. “And you?”

  “Too much on my mind.”

  At this she turned her head, her hair, loose and golden, drifting across her cheek. Wade strode forward into the room, into the glow of amber lamplight, and she saw that he was bare-chested but for the unbuttoned plaid work shirt he’d tossed on. Aside from that, he wore denim pants, and his feet were bare on the spotless floor. His muscles gleamed like polished bronze in the lamplight, and it was all she could do not to stare at his broad, hard-muscled chest.

  She grabbed the teacup and took a gulp to distract herself. It was cold. Bitter. She’d forgotten to add sugar. She gulped it down rather than glance at him again.

  Wade came around the table and folded his lanky frame down onto the opposite bench. His sharp, handsome features were totally unreadable.

  “Who’s Alec Ballantree?”

  If she’d still been drinking the tea, she’d have choked. As it was, she gasped. “What makes you ask . . . about Alec Ballantree?” she demanded, and felt her cheeks flushing.

  “You mentioned him the other day. And wouldn’t tell me who he was. But when Becky told you about the man who came to her school looking for you, his was the first name you guessed.”

  So it was. She acknowledged the fact with no small degree of irritation. “He’s nobody important. At least, not now.” Though she prayed he would accept this explanation and move on to another subject, he merely continued to study her, his gaze cool and noncommittal, until at last she could bear it no longer.

  “If you must
know, he was my fiancé.” Why, oh why, did he have the power to wrench words—and feelings— from her she would rather keep to herself? Her chin jutted out. “A man I thought I loved. When I still believed in love,” she added with a brittle smile, and stood up. Hurrying to the sink she placed her cup inside and used the pump to rinse it, talking quickly all the while.

  “He claimed to love me, promised to love me forever— but forever only lasted until my stepfather’s death, and the discovery that Gillis owed more than a half million dollars in all—great portions of that to many of Philadelphia’s finest citizens, among them Alec’s own father. Suddenly, forever became . . .” She took a deep breath. “Yesterday.”

  Her lashes swept down, covering, she hoped, the pain in her eyes, but she should have known she couldn’t keep it from Wade. He didn’t move, and his expression never changed.

  “In other words, he’s a damned fool.”

  She looked at him then—his expression held no pity, not even sympathy, just flat-out anger.

  “I’m afraid not many people in Philadelphia would agree with you.” She tried for an indifferent laugh, a light tone. “It was generally agreed he escaped just in time. Another few months, and it would have been too late—we’d have been wed already and he’d have been stuck with m—”

  He moved so quickly she broke off, faltering. He grabbed her by the shoulders before she could even gasp. “The man’s not only a damned fool, he’s a spineless one. Do you still love him?”

  The question took her by surprise. She stared at him blankly. Once, she would have said yes. She’d have said it immediately, heartbrokenly. And followed it by saying: No, I hate him.

  But now . . .

  She summoned up Alec’s face. Strangely, there wasn’t pain at the memory, only . . . fuzziness.

  “I—I don’t know . . .”

  “Do you think about him night and day? See his face in the firelight, hear his voice in your bed in the dark at night? Do you think of him when you’re out riding, or saddling your horse, or walking up the damn stairs to an empty bedroom?”

  She stared at him, his dark face tight-lipped and pale beneath his tan, his eyes seething with something powerful and dangerous that came from a place deep within. “N-no . . . of course not . . . what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, Caitlin, that those are all the times I think of you. Those—and more. Too many to count in a day. In a night.”

  Stunned, she could only stare at him. Then she remembered Luanne. She yanked free of him. “Perhaps it would be best if you saved your pretty words for Miss Porter,” she said, turning away, heading for the door. “They’re wasted on me . . . oh!”

  She was shocked when he grabbed her from behind, his arms sliding around her, holding her taut against him. She couldn’t escape. His breath rustled her hair as he spoke in her ear. “Miss Porter is quite pretty.”

  Pain squeezed around her heart. “Yes, yes, she is. Now let me go!”

  His arms tightened, his voice grew rougher, sending shivers down her spine. “She’s sweet as pie. Kind and easygoing and pleasant to be around.”

  “Yes, so do go ahead and be around her all you want—”

  “And I only kissed her that night to forget about you. To try to forget about you.” Wade’s mouth touched her ear, and a shiver shot through her. “But it didn’t work, Caitlin. It only made me think about you more.”

  He spun her around, still holding her tightly, and one muscle-corded arm coiled around her waist. Good thing too, Caitlin thought dizzily, because otherwise she would surely have fallen. Her knees turned to butter as she searched his eyes.

  “You expect me . . . to believe that?”

  “I’m going to prove it to you.”

  “I . . . don’t see how,” she muttered warily.

  “You will,” he told her, a strange hoarseness in his tone. His eyes seemed to be devouring her, but those two deliberate words were what struck her with all the force of a hammer smashing through her heart. With her pulse racing, Caitlin tried to struggle against his unbreakable hold.

  “I’m going to bed . . . I want you to let go of me right now!”

  “Can’t, Caitlin.” His breath fanned her cheek. “Not yet. There’s something I have to prove to you first.” He drew her inexorably closer. Panic burst through her as she saw he was about to kiss her again.

  Wade saw that fear in her eyes—much like the terror he’d witnessed in wild mares fighting for their lives and their freedom.

  Anger jolted through him. That son-of-a-bitch Trent had hurt her, hurt her badly—even worse than that gutless fiancé of hers, he thought, and it only made him want to kiss her more, to kiss away the fear and the pain. But searching her eyes, seeing the depths of her dread, he wondered if it was only a man she was afraid of, any man—or if she might really be afraid of herself.

  He remembered Nick’s words and suddenly swept her even closer, but this time his face softened, and a smile tender as morning touched his lips.

  “Tell you what. Let me kiss you once more, Caitlin, just once more. And let’s see if a kiss can lie.”

  She looked stunned, terrified. But she didn’t struggle and she didn’t say no. Slowly, gently, he leaned down and touched his mouth to hers. Her lips were like satiny pillows and they fitted against his warmly. A powerful need surged through him, a need for this woman, this angel with her sharp tongue and bruised heart, this girl he had sworn to protect.

  But how could he protect her from himself?

  The kiss deepened. His need grew hotter. One hand tangled in her hair, his fingers dragging through the silken strands until he caressed her nape, while with his other hand he drew her ever closer against his body. With her breasts crushed against his chest and his need for her building to a painful tension that rippled through every part of him, his lips stayed gentle as they played against hers. He felt her quiver, and passion roared through him. She leaned into him, like a leaf nestling against a rock, and everywhere their bodies touched caught fire.

  “Caitlin.” Hoarsely, he spoke her name and kissed her again, deeper, harder, quicker. “My God. Caitlin.”

  She trembled in his arms. How could anything that terrified her so much feel so good? She knew she should run from what she was feeling, from what they were doing. For even if he was telling the truth, Wade Barclay was more dangerous to her than Alec or Dominic Trent had ever been—he touched her more deeply, more powerfully, than they ever had, ever could . . . and that meant he could hurt her more.

  When Wade kissed her, she couldn’t think, couldn’t fight, she could only dive headlong into the most delirious pleasure she’d ever known.

  And he was kissing her now.

  Oh, was he. Fire ignited along her lips as his strong, hot mouth toyed with hers. Coaxing, demanding. Dominating.

  Her mouth betrayed her, parting eagerly for his kiss, and the sweet invasion of his tongue. Her own tongue battled his even as her senses swam with pleasure. She clasped her arms around his neck and became one with him in the lamplit kitchen, locked in endless burning kisses that swept them both down a path into the perilous unknown.

  Wade didn’t even remember scooping her up in his arms, carrying her into the hall and up the staircase, then down the silent corridor to his room.

  Inside, there was little light except for the sparkle of the silvery half-moon, faintly illuminating the masculine room with its tall oak bureau and sturdy desk, its rich maroon curtains and the deep blue and scarlet rug on the floor. As soon as Wade set her down upon the four-poster oak bed, he was reaching for the sash of her wrapper.

  “I want to see you, Caitlin. All of you.” After carrying her all that way, he wasn’t even breathing hard, but his chest was filmed with sweat—not from exertion, but from desire. He leaned in closer to her, inhaling the light flowery scent of her, drowning in the wanting of her. “You’re too damn beautiful,” he groaned as her green eyes glimmered up at him, and that gorgeous hair swirled around her exquisite face. He could
n’t even think straight anymore. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered roughly.

  “N-no, I shouldn’t,” she whispered back, but even as she started to rise, the panic bubbling up, Wade pushed her gently back and she went still, staring up at him, her heart pounding, her breath caught in her throat.

  “Too late to turn back,” he rasped in a low tortured tone, and she knew it was true. It was too late, for both of them.

  She didn’t want to turn back, she didn’t want to leave. And that was as far as her thoughts would take her because in the next instant, he parted the peach wrapper and she saw the flash of pleasure in his eyes, then he was sliding it down her arms and she couldn’t think of anything but how glad she was that he thought she was beautiful and how much she wanted him to touch her.

  Wade couldn’t breathe with pleasure at the sight of her lovely pale breasts, rose-tipped and delicious in the moon-glow. She was naked as the morn beneath the wrapper, and as he tugged away the silken robe and sent it sailing in a heap to the floor, he forgot everything but the woman before him, the woman whose smooth skin and lush curves begged for his touch, the woman whose eyes shone like precious jewels, the woman who looked and smelled and felt more delicious than a whole damned field of violets.

  As he lowered her across the bed, Wade’s body covered hers, his arms bracing beside her narrow shoulders as he captured her mouth in a kiss even more intense than they had known before.

  But that was only the beginning. He touched her slowly, feverishly, everywhere—savoring the softness and shape of her breasts, skimming his hands in slow caresses along her shoulders, her arms, circling between her thighs.

  Tortured by the urge to go fast, he forced himself to take it slow, wanting to pleasure her, ready her, savor every inch of her. His brain had shut down—Wade Barclay, who thought through everything he ever did, quite simply stopped thinking and gave himself over to the instincts claiming him, instincts Caitlin Summers had taken by storm. Each little moan she gave as his tongue scraped against her taut nipples, or as his fingers stroked the slick softness between her thighs, sent his urges into full aggressive mode, made him ache and throb for her, but he held back and kissed her until their mouths were bruised and hot, their breathing ragged. Struggling and panting, she tore at his shirt and her fingers trembled at the fastenings on his pants.