Читать книгу A Kiss In The Moonlight - Laurie Paige - Страница 10

Later that morning, Lyric followed Trevor into town. The station wagon still handled just fine. She’d wanted to wait until she returned to Texas to have it fixed, but Trevor and his uncle wouldn’t hear of it.

At the local garage—there was only one—Trevor and the owner examined her car and decided to replace the bumper and the used air bags and to smooth out the crinkle in the nose.

“I’ll give you my insurance information,” she said, digging into her purse for the card.

Trevor shook his head. “There’s no need. I caused the accident. I’ll take care of the bill.”

“But that’s what insurance is for,” she protested.

“It’s my responsibility,” he insisted.

The garage owner observed their argument in amusement, then nodded when she finally shut up and let Trevor have his way, since it was clear he wasn’t giving up. While the men made the final arrangements on repairs, she stepped on the running board of Trevor’s pickup with a little groan. She seemed to be getting stiffer by the minute.

His hands immediately settled at her waist and lifted her into the cab of the truck. Her skin burned as his heat penetrated her clothing and settled deep inside her.

To her shock, she realized she wanted him…really wanted him. Now. This instant. Longing and need entwined all through her. She wanted passion, yes, but she also wanted comforting. She needed his strength. More than that, she needed his tender, loving care.

Not that he would offer it, she admitted. She was foolish to think she would get another chance with him.

“You’d better relax before your face sets that way,” he said when they were on their way.

She frowned at him. “Your twin said you were stubborn. I didn’t realize how much.”

Trevor shrugged. “You ran off the road because I cut you off. I take care of my mistakes.”

“Or walk out on them,” she added.

He gave her a warning glance that said, “Drop it.”

“Isn’t that what you did to me? You thought of our time together as a mistake.”

“For good reason. I never encroach on another man’s territory.”

“I’m not a piece of property to be bought and sold. Or fenced off by some possessive male.”

“Fine. You’re free as a bird as far as I’m concerned.”

“Fine,” she said, and stared at the road without looking in his direction again.

Instead of taking the road to the ranch, he turned onto another one running alongside the reservoir that formed a long, narrow recreational lake and supplied the town’s water. The water reflected the sky.

The valley was cupped protectively in the palm of the surrounding mountains. It looked too peaceful and lovely to be real. For her it wasn’t. Sadness gripped her heart.

Get over it, she advised, rejecting self-pity.

Trevor pulled into the parking lot of a lodge that looked new. “I thought we would have lunch here.”

Stifling a protest, she got out before he could help her and joined him on a flagstone path to the front steps.

She felt every movement as a separate pain in each muscle of her body. When he took her arm to help her as they climbed to the broad porch, she couldn’t help but flinch.

He paused on the wooden planks and studied her face. “Sore?” he asked.

“Everywhere,” she replied with a smile and a little shrug. A mistake, that. The pain was immediate. Her hand went automatically to her left shoulder.

Trevor frowned, then eased the collar of her shirt away from her neck. “The seat belt,” he murmured. “The collarbone may be broken. We’ll go see Beau.” He paused. “You shouldn’t have ridden this morning. If you’d been thrown, your injuries could have been compounded. And serious.”

“I wasn’t, so I’m fine,” she said stoically. “I don’t need to see a doctor.”

He stared into her eyes like Diogenes searching for one honest person. “Let’s go eat,” he at last said huskily.

“This is lovely,” she said when they entered the soaring, two-story lobby. A huge fireplace was filled with fragrant pine and cedar boughs, ready for a spark to set it flaming. She imagined snow outside, the warm fire inside and a lazy afternoon of lying on the sofa and reading.

Images sprang to her mind of a couple taking their ease there, then laying their books aside and turning to each other, unable to stand another moment without touching.

Lyric sighed shakily and forced the mental scene away. Trevor still held her arm. Using gentle pressure, he guided her into the dining room.

“Lovely,” she repeated when they were seated. Their window had a view of the lake and the mountains. “The lodge is new, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “We opened a couple of months ago.”

“It belongs to you?”

“To the family. My brothers and I, plus our three cousins, put up the money and did most of the construction this past year. The logs came from the ranch. We cut and milled the lumber ourselves.”

“My family worked together on the ranch. It was fun.” She fell silent, recalling her parents’ divorce last year. The shock of it. The bewilderment that thirty years could go down the drain without explanation.

With all their children out of the nest—Lyric was working and had her own place while one brother was a college junior and the other a freshman—their parents had called it quits. They’d admitted the marriage had been in trouble for a long time but they’d concealed it until the youngest child graduated from high school before going their separate ways. The boys had been just as shocked as Lyric.

So much for romantic illusions. She wasn’t sure she believed anyone lived “happily ever after” anymore. Two of her friends from school had already split after less than three years of marriage.

She let out a ragged breath composed of equal parts dismay and disillusionment. She really had been foolish to traipse all the way to Idaho chasing after a dream.

Trevor gave her a piercing glance, then his eyes went back to the menu the hostess had given them. The waitress brought the tall glasses of iced tea they’d requested, took their orders and quietly left.

“So why was your mother living in Austin?” he asked. “I thought they were divorced.”

What had they been talking about? Oh, yes, her family. “They were. They are. Last year.”

She sipped the cool tea, worry eating at her. She hated for things to go wrong. Her aunt said she was too soft-hearted. She didn’t know about that, but problems bothered her until she found solutions.

A wry smile settled briefly on her mouth. Perhaps she wanted the standard fairy-tale ending too much.

“Tell me the truth,” she requested. “Did you ask your uncle to include me in the invitation to the ranch?”

His eyes reflected the brilliant blue of the lake and sky. “No.”

Well, she’d asked. Just to be sure. Just so there wouldn’t be any lingering hope on her part.

Her throat tightened so that it was difficult to swallow or to speak. She nodded and smiled at the man who watched her with the fierce stare of a hawk. His gaze held none of the warmth or humor or desire of last fall.

She considered telling him about the final days of winter and that she couldn’t have come to him in April or May or June while the grief over her lifelong friend was still so strong. They’d set June the fifteenth as the wedding date. She’d had to get past that first.

However, one look at Trevor’s harsh expression told her he wasn’t ready to listen, and she couldn’t bring herself to plead for his understanding. So she would leave at the end of the month with her aunt.

But if the attraction blossomed again, some part of her added, then perhaps she and Trevor could talk and sort out their feelings. In the meantime, she wanted him to know she wasn’t there under any pretenses.

“I’m not engaged, Trevor,” she said softly, “not since early in March.”

“Another sucker bites the dust,” he muttered with a sardonic snort of laughter.

Lyric turned toward the scene outside the restaurant. She studied the view until the swift tempest of emotion passed and the pieces of her heart were pasted together once more. She wouldn’t try to explain the past to him again. She just wouldn’t.

When the waitress brought their meal, they ate in silence and left immediately thereafter.

“Trevor, hello,” a feminine voice called.

Trevor spotted the neighboring rancher’s daughter. He’d been going to see her last night when he’d run Lyric off the road. “Hey, Jane Anne,” he called.

She crossed the parking lot, then hesitated when she saw he was with another woman. “Hi,” she said to Lyric.

Trevor introduced the two women. “Lyric and her aunt are here for the month.” He explained about the accident.

“Are you okay?” Jane Anne asked.

Lyric nodded.

The rich brown of her hair picked up shades of auburn and golden amber in the sunlight, he noted. The gold of her eyes flashed when she glanced from him to the other woman. Her face was tanned, her cheeks rosy. Her smile was warm and friendly.

By contrast, Jane Anne looked pale. Her hair was blond, almost white, inherited from Scandinavian ancestors. Her eyes were light blue, her skin very fair. Her smile was cautious. Jane Anne was only eighteen and had graduated from high school in May. In June she’d been dumped by her longtime boyfriend for a girl he’d met in college.

Trevor had started seeing her out of sympathy, his attitude that of a big brother since he was ten years older than she was. “We’ll have to think of something to entertain Lyric and give her a sample of mountain hospitality. She’s from Texas.”

“I have a suggestion,” Jane Anne told them. “I was thinking of having a barbecue. I thought you could help me with it,” she said to Trevor, giving him a somewhat flirty glance, which startled him. “Let’s do it Friday night. We can introduce your guest to the local men.”

A spark of something very like jealousy shot through Trevor. He shrugged it off. What Lyric did was nothing to him. They’d had a few laughs, that was all.

Okay, so the last laugh had been on him. He could live with it. He had lived with it and gotten over it.

“Great idea,” he said. “What time?”

“Around seven-thirty?”

“That’ll give me time to help Travis with the chores, so that’ll work out.”

“I’ll call him and Alison. Also Janis and Keith. I want them to come, too.”

Trevor nodded. After Jane Anne said her farewells and went inside the lodge, he glanced at his guest. “Alison is married to my twin. Janis is her sister. Janis is married to Keith. He and his partner own the ranch to the north of our place and are running one of those paramilitary camps that are popular now.”

Lyric nodded. “I remember you mentioning them.”

“Yes.” He’d told her all about his family the three weeks he’d been in Texas. They’d laughed at his tale of all the weddings that had been going around like a rash.

Yeah, funny. He’d even thought he’d be among the married men before the year was over. Man, he had gone off the deep end.

But no more.

When he’d learned she was engaged—sort of, according to her story—he’d felt he’d been blindsided by an invisible giant with a club. His heart had been flattened.

An echo of pain chimed someplace deep inside him. He set his jaw and ignored it. He was nearly a year older and a hell of a lot wiser. “Let’s go,” he said.

Her smile disappeared while her eyes searched his as if looking for his deepest secrets. He stalked around the pickup and got in, cranking the engine after she did the same and was buckled up. They returned to the ranch without another word.

His uncle was waiting for them to return. “Beau came out during his lunch hour and checked Fay over. He left some pills in case you two gals get to hurting. He said you’ll probably feel worse before you’re better.”

“I think I’ll take some,” Lyric said.

Trevor looked her over. Damn, he’d forgotten his intention of taking her by the clinic to be checked. He’d noticed she’d moved carefully all morning. A couple of times she’d winced, like when she swung onto the mare up on the ridge. Also when she’d stepped up into the pickup at the garage and again when they’d left the lodge.

Guilt ate at him. He wished he’d been more careful with his driving yesterday. He hadn’t, and, as his uncle had often told the kids, there was the devil to pay.

His uncle continued. “Your aunt did, too. She’s napping now.”

Lyric smiled at the older man. “That was next on my list.”

Trevor thought of her in his bed and of holding her while she slept. His body reacted at once. When she recovered from the accident, he could imagine lots of enjoyable things to do in bed.

But not with a woman who responded passionately to one man while thinking of marriage to another.

Lyric woke slowly, groggily. The knock came again, and she realized that was what had roused her. Glancing at the window, she saw the sky was brilliant with the colors of sunset. “Yes?” she called, sitting up with an effort.

The bruise on her left shoulder where the seat belt had dug in was bluish purple.

“Uncle Nick sent you some salve,” Trevor said.

She went to the door and opened it.

He handed over a tube of cream. “Rub it in good. We use it on the horses when they get a sore leg. It seems to work.” His grin was wry.

“Thank you. I’ll try it.”

“Dinner’s in about ten minutes.”

She nodded. After closing the door, she used the salve on her shoulder and knees. Her skin tingled, then heat spread throughout the sore places. It felt so good, she smoothed the cream over her shoulders and the calves of her legs, too. The scent of camphor, peppermint and cinnamon engulfed her.

After changing from her rumpled clothing to blue slacks and a long-sleeved white silk blouse, she freshened up, then went to the living room. The two men were putting the finishing touches to the table in the dining room. Her aunt was already seated there.

“Join us,” the older man said, welcome in his smile. “We were getting worried when you didn’t show up all afternoon. You must have needed the rest.”

Her eyes burned with sudden tears at his kind tone. Lyric blinked them away as rapidly as they formed, horrified that she might cry in front of them. She sat opposite her aunt while the two men sat at each end of the table.

“I don’t recall ever having a three-hour nap. It must have been the pills. I feel great now,” she lied.

Trevor made a low sound of disbelief.

Raising her chin, she dared him to dispute her word. He didn’t, but his eyes were cynical as he passed a basket of rolls to her.

“What did you think of the mare you rode this morning?” Uncle Nick asked.

“She was smooth and well behaved.”

“We’re going to breed a championship line from her and the stallion.”

“Show horses?”

“Cutting ponies,” the uncle corrected.

“That’s why you bought the stallion when you were at the stock show,” she said to Trevor.

He nodded. “To introduce new blood. Zack wanted to develop a line closer to the Thoroughbreds. He wants them a little taller and quicker than our present stock.”

She knew the Seven Devils cow ponies were well-known in ranching circles. “You already raise the best in the West.”

His uncle beamed. “Yes, but we can’t rest on our laurels. The rancher across the creek is determined to beat us at the state fair next year.”

“Is that Jane Anne’s father?” she asked.

“Yep,” the uncle said. “That girl is a crackerjack rider, too. She wins any competition she enters.”

Lyric’s heart dropped a couple of inches. Ah, well, one couldn’t be the best at everything, she consoled herself.

Smile and be nice for three weeks, that was all she had to do to get through this awkward period with grace. She could do that. Smile and hold the tears inside as she’d done all fall and winter…

Uncle Nick broke into her introspection. “How about a game of Fantan?” he asked. “Do you ladies feel up to it?”

“I do,” her aunt declared.

Lyric nodded as three pairs of eyes looked her way. They played cards until ten o’clock. After that, Trevor turned on the television so they could check the news and weather report.

“Clear tomorrow,” he said. “Trav and I are going to cut hay before the weather changes.”

The local channel came on after the national news. The anchor reported an accident on the highway that had killed a man returning to Boise after a business trip. The camera focused on a woman holding a baby while a little girl clung to her skirts. The little family looked scared.

Lyric pressed a hand to her throat as a terrible ache settled there. She felt their fear and bewilderment, the disbelief that this tragedy could be happening to them. They seemed so alone—the woman, the child and the baby, standing there in front of a little house, the glare of the camera lights catching every nuance of emotion.

Tears, horrible and hurting, flooded her eyes and poured down her face.

“Lyric, honey,” her aunt said.

She shook her head. “It’s just…they look so sad,” she said, trying to explain. She stood. “I’m all right.” She rushed from the room.

In the neat bedroom she closed the door and lay down with her hot, streaming face pressed into the pillow.

Nothing like making an utter fool of yourself, she scolded, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She’d held them too long…through the turning of leaves in the fall, the rains and ice of winter storms, the blooming promise of a spring that never came. Spring would never come for Lyle, her oldest friend, the playmate of her youth.

But he’d seen the opening of the daffodils and the brilliant show of the tulips. That had made him happy.

The tears continued, each one a separate ache as memories unreeled like a movie—picnics by the river, climbs along the Pedernales River cascades, games of Kick the Can at twilight with cowboys and the ranch children joining in.

She’d loved it all, had reveled in life and its great and wonderful freedom. So had her brothers. So had Lyle.

Sobs shook her body. Grief took her to the far shore of despair. She’d wanted so much for everything to stay the same, locked in its perfect little niche of happiness.

But her mother had wanted to leave her father; her old friend had wanted more than friendship; and a stranger had entered her idyllic world, forcing her to face its imperfections. Lyle’s car wreck had been the final blow to her fantasy.

The woman with the little girl and the baby must have thought her world was perfect, too. She’d baked a cake for her husband’s birthday. That was why he was rushing home, so they could celebrate together.

The tears soaked the pillow, their supply seemingly endless. Lyric willed them to stop, but they wouldn’t.

The air stirred, and faint light brightened the room for a second as the door opened, then closed. She heard the footsteps on the oval braided rug. Not her aunt. Trevor.

“Lyric?” he said in that uncertain way men had when confronted with an emotional woman.

“Go away,” she said. “Please. Go away.”

“I can’t.”

He sat on the side of the bed, then leaned close. His big hand stroked down her hair, stripping away the band that held it in place so he could run his fingers through the strands.

“Don’t,” he murmured.

“I c-can’t h-help it.” Each word was whispered on a sobbing breath, like a child trying to hold the tears back but unable to.

She felt him release a deep breath as he bent close to her temple. His lips touched her there ever so gently.

“Your aunt said you’d been unhappy for a long time. She said I should ask you to tell me about it.”

Lyric shook her head and kept her face pressed into the pillow. The tears were never going to stop, not in a hundred years, and she wasn’t going to share any tales of woe with a man who hated her for deceiving him.

He shifted until he stretched out beside her. He rubbed her scalp and her back, massaged along her spine. “Then cry, if you have to, until the tears are gone.”

A fresh flood ensued at his words. He silently waited for her to finish. After a long time, she became aware of his heat along her right side. She realized that deep within she was cold in spite of the hot tears. She moved closer.

She felt his hesitation, then he laid a leg over both of hers. Lifting her hair, he kissed the back of her neck and along her blouse collar.

“You smell so good,” he said. “Like ambrosia. You remind me of days spent working in the sun, the scent of summer in the air. Of coming to the house and finding my favorite cake cooling in the kitchen, the aroma making my mouth water. You make me hungry for things that used to be.”

Lyric felt his words sift down to her soul, saw them as sun motes that danced in the air. Need and longing stirred in her, blending all the unspoken desires of her heart into one yearning. She turned to her back so she could study him in the faint glow of an outside light.

“Are you feeling sorry for me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe for both of us. And Lyle.” He gave a half laugh that sounded infinitely sad. “The other point in this odd triangle.”

She lifted one hand and pushed back the stubborn lock of hair that fell over his forehead. His uncle’s was the same, she’d noted. A family trait.

Tears filled her eyes again.

He brushed them off her lashes with his finger, then he kissed the moisture off her cheeks. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

As sudden as the tears had appeared, passion took their place, rushing through her in a great tidal wave of hunger that had been suppressed much too long. Gazing into his eyes as he tried to understand her outburst, she knew they were too vulnerable at this moment to stay in the room alone.

Knew it, but didn’t stir, didn’t suggest they go.

She laid her hands on his chest and soaked in the warmth there. She touched his throat, followed the strong cords of his neck, explored his jaw where muscles quickly contracted and relaxed.

Running her fingers into his hair, she cupped his head between her hands. With the lightest of pressure, she brought his face closer to hers. She felt his breath on her lips. She opened her mouth, licked her lips. He did the same. They were ready for the kiss.

Forever after, in all the seasons of all the years to come, she would have to acknowledge she had been the one to make the final move.

Slowly, savoring the moment, she touched her mouth to his. That was all it took.

The shudder that ran through him entered her and sent a tremor all the way to her toes. She pushed her sandals off and wrapped her legs around his. He pulled her closer, rolling so he half lay on her.

Hunger, so great it overlaid the earlier grief that had filled her, became an unreasonable force inside her. She tugged at his shirt until it was free of his jeans, then moved away enough so that she could unfasten the buttons.

His hands closed over hers. “What are we doing?” he asked, his voice dropping a register.

She shook her head slightly, negating the question. “Don’t talk,” she whispered. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, her hands feverish now, restless with the need that drove her past thought and spoken words.