Читать книгу Cherokee Baby - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 9

Julianne sat on the edge of a rolling-pin bed, poring over a color brochure.

Her room at the lodge, artistically crafted from oak beams and plastered limestone, offered a cedar chest, a cypress table and multipaned windows.

The architecture, she read, was inspired by the German immigrants who’d originally settled in the Texas Hill Country, but the colorful baskets and clay pottery represented the Elk family’s Cherokee roots.

Curious to know more, she scanned the back of the brochure, hoping to learn more about Bobby’s family, but the rest of the information centered on the ranch.

“So, what did he say?”

Julianne glanced up. Kay sat at the table, watching her with a keen eye. Her cousins were staying in the room next door, but they seemed determined to remain by her side, probing her for details about Bobby Elk.

“He accepted my apology.”

“And?” Kay prompted.

“And we talked about my birthday. About coping with turning forty. He seemed to understand how I feel.”

“Did you tell him you were divorced?”

Julianne nodded. “I mentioned it.”

“We think he’s perfect for you.” Kay shot a gleaming grin at Mern. She, too, sat at the table, but she wasn’t nearly as devilish as the dark-haired Kay. Mern behaved like the innocent partner in crime, with her ladylike mannerisms and angelic gold locks. She merely inclined her head, waiting for Julianne’s reaction.

Just her luck. Her cousins, who used to drive her to distraction when they were kids, had decided to play match-makers. “And just how am I supposed to date him? I’m only going to be here for a week.”

Kay spoke up again. “We were thinking more along the lines of a fling. Something fast, fulfilling and fun.”

Julianne’s jaw nearly dropped. “You mean, an affair? You’ve got to be kidding.” She’d slept with one man in her entire life. And she’d been married to him. “I don’t do things like that.”

“Think about it, Jul. Sex with a gorgeous stranger. It’s just what you need to pull you out of this slump.”

Stunned by the casual suggestion, by the sheer raciness of it, she shifted her gaze between her cousins. “That’s what this vacation was supposed to do.”

Kay flashed her impish smile. “So, consider Bobby Elk an added bonus.”

Dear God. “What about sexually transmitted diseases?”

“You can make sure there’s protection available,” Mern said in her quiet, no-nonsense manner. “You can keep condoms in a drawer. Or in your purse. It’s possible to have a responsible affair.”

“And they sell prophylactics in the gift shop,” Kay added. “This place has everything. You don’t even need to go into town.”

Julianne’s mind reeled. Her cousins had been here all of three hours and already they’d scoped out a box of condoms and a tantalizing man to go with them.

Kay reached for her diet soda, the caffeine jolt she thrived on. “It’s time you got back into life, Jul. You’ve been divorced for two years.”

She fidgeted with the brochure in her hand, trying to get her thoughts in order. The idea of making love to Bobby Elk scared the stuffing out of her.

But deep down, it thrilled her, too.

“What if I made a play for him and he turned me down?” She’d be mortified. Crushed. Destroyed.

Kay took another swig of her soda. “Come on, Jul. He’s a red-blooded American male. And he’s attracted to you.”

“This whole thing is crazy.” Julianne popped up and paced the room. Now she wanted to throttle her cousins for putting the idea in her head.

“Just think about it,” Mern said.

Julianne stopped to study the blonde, noting how striking she was with her tiny waist, rounded hips and ample bust. Mern could seduce a man without even trying. And so could Kay. The brunette had a straightforward, free-spirited charm that drew men to her like magnets. No wonder they’d kept their husbands.

She plopped back onto the bed, picked up the brochure again. And when she caught sight of Bobby’s name, her heart raced.

Kay finished her drink. “Let it simmer for a day or so. You don’t have to rush into anything this minute.”

Let it simmer? What did that mean? That she was supposed to face Bobby Elk tomorrow with sex on her mind?

“Easy for you to say.” Already she was panicked about what tomorrow would bring. Panicked about just seeing Bobby, let alone imagining herself in bed with him.

The following morning Bobby woke with a start, shaking a leg no longer there.

Phantom pain, he thought. The nerves didn’t know his leg was gone.

But Bobby knew. A man didn’t lose a limb and suddenly forget that part of him was missing.

The phantoms rarely came anymore, so he closed his eyes, waiting out the discomfort, knowing it would eventually subside. He didn’t believe in pharmaceutical pain-killers. He followed a natural path and when necessary found relief with Juniper Berry, an herb also known as Ghost Berry.

Ghost medicine for phantom pain. Sometimes the irony actually humored him. But not today. This frustrating morning, Bobby was in a ravaged mood.

He opened his eyes and cursed. Relaxing didn’t seem to be an option, even though he knew it would help ease the pain.

He looked around his bedroom and took a deep breath. He lived in a log cabin that used to be a guest accommodation on the ranch. He’d given up the home he’d shared with his wife. Instead he stayed in a tiny place nestled on the side of a hill, surrounded by gnarled trees, flowers that sprouted on their own and long nights of seclusion.

When the phantoms subsided, Bobby rose and reached for his crutches. Carrying himself into the bathroom, he stared at the adaptations that had been made. Grab rails, a shower chair. They had been part of his routine for the past three years, but today they made him feel like a cripple.

Damn, but he hated self-pity.

He’d promised himself long ago that he wouldn’t dwell on the “Why me?” syndrome. And he’d been doing fairly well. Until yesterday, until a pretty redhead named Julianne McKenzie arrived, stirring an attraction that toyed with his libido.

And made him wish, much too desperately, that his body was whole.

After his shower, he attached his prosthesis. It took all of five minutes, but he did it begrudgingly, hating himself, once again, for falling into the self-pity trap. He was a healthy man, active and strong, financially secure. He had a lot to be thankful for.

He spoke to the Creator every day, and the One Who Lives Above always listened. But this morning, Bobby couldn’t find the emotional strength to give thanks.

On this bright summer morning, he felt like what he was—a forty-two-year-old widower—a man who’d lost his wife.

And, he added, grabbing a pair of Wrangler jeans from the dresser, a self-loathing, sex-starved amputee.

He made it to the barn by 6:00 a.m. and started a pot of coffee before Michael could do the damage. Checking his computer, he scanned his appointments, the riding lessons and guided tours the front desk had scheduled for him.

Julianne was his first lesson for the day.

Anxious, he glanced at his watch and listened to the coffee brew. He could handle this, he told himself. She would only be around for a week. And he knew how to interact with his guests, how to be a proper host.

All he had to do was relax and stop thinking about the sexual fury in his gut.

Ready for a boost of caffeine, he poured a cup of the European blend and settled into his desk.

The coffee tasted like heaven, and so did the continental breakfast Chef Gerard had sent to his office. The old chef, who’d trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, spoiled Bobby and his ranch hands every morning with oven-baked treats.

He polished off a buttered scone and checked his watch again.

Showtime, he thought, rising to play his part, to face Julianne as he would any other paying guest. A week-long stay at his ranch didn’t come cheap, and he owed her the courtesy of a genuine smile.

Or as genuine as he could muster.

She was already there, seated at the bench outside the barn, her spellbinding hair secured in a girlish ponytail and tied with a silky blue ribbon.

She stood and sent him a look as sweet and warm as a candy-wrapped sun.

He approached her, thinking she looked like a fairy. She had a beguiling little dimple, eyes as green as moss and freckles sprinkled across her nose like glitter.

Forty looked cute on her, he decided. Bright and fresh.

“Morning,” he said.

“Hi.”

She adjusted the hem of an oversize denim jacket. The white blouse beneath it sported a touch of lace at the collar and a row of tiny blue buttons. Her jeans were a pair of comfortably worn Levi’s. Her moderately priced boots looked brand-spanking-new.

“So, have you ever been on a horse?” he asked, gearing up for her lesson.

She shook her head. “I’m from Pennsylvania.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “They don’t have horses in Pennsylvania?”

She waved her hands in a flighty gesture. “Oh, of course they do. That was dumb.”

No, he thought. It was sweet. “I’m just teasing you, Julianne.”

“I know.” She sent him a lopsided smile. “And you’re good at it, too.”

He kept grinning. “You’re an easy mark.”

“So I can expect you to torture me with that sense of humor of yours?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Having a sense of humor kept him alive, he supposed. That and his passion for horses. And of course, his paternal love for Michael.

He considered Julianne and wondered if she had any kids. Knowing it wasn’t his place to question her, he didn’t ask.

“Come on,” he said, guiding her into the barn. “I’ll introduce you to your mount.”

He chose a well-mannered, highly trained gelding. They stopped in front of a box stall and he motioned to the quarter horse. “This is Sir Caballero. ‘Sir Knight’ in English. Most of the time we just call him Caballero.”

“So, he’s a boy.”

“Yep.” Amused, Bobby watched her warm up to the gelding. “A ten-year-old boy.”

She tilted her head. “How can you tell?”

“That he’s male?”

She glanced at the horse, then blushed furiously. “I was talking about his age. How can you tell how old he is?”

Still amused, he flashed a telltale grin. “I knew what you meant.”

“Oh, goodness.” She laughed, rolled her pretty green eyes. “You were teasing me again. I’m such a dork.”

“No, you’re not.” She was playful, he thought. A little naive. And that girlish naiveté made him want to kiss her. To brush her lips with his, to taste the dimple in her cheek. “You’re sweet.”

She blinked and smiled, and the dimple imbedded even deeper. “Thank you.”

Bobby moved closer and they gazed at each other. All he had to do was to lean forward and initiate the first kiss, the first sip of satisfaction.

When she moistened her lips, a shiver shot straight to his groin.

Lust, he thought. Sugarcoated lust.

Kissing Julianne wouldn’t change who he was or what he’d done to Sharon. It wouldn’t restore his honor or the broken vow he’d made to his wife’s family.

It would only be a balm, temporary relief for what would never quit ailing him.

But that didn’t make his desire, the hunger, any less real.

“Where were we?” he asked, doing his damnedest to break the spell, to get back on track, to quit staring at her mouth.

“We were…” About to kiss, Julianne thought. Or so it had seemed. But she couldn’t be sure. She’d been out of practice for far too long.

“We were talking about Caballero,” she said, suddenly recalling where they’d left off. “About him being a boy. And about how old he is.” She turned to the horse and tried to gain control of her senses. She’d lain awake most of the night, considering an affair with Bobby.

A fun, fast, fulfilling fling.

“Oh, yeah.” He turned to the horse, too. “First of all, he’s a gelding, a castrated male.”

Julianne merely nodded. She wasn’t about to comment on the poor beast’s castration.

“Caballero is a registered quarter horse,” Bobby went on to say. “And his date of birth is on his papers. But a horse’s teeth can determine its age. The wearing surface changes as they grow older.”

“That makes sense.” She reached out to stroke the gelding’s nose, and the horse bobbed his approval.

Bobby glanced her way and once again their gazes locked. Softly, gently. Like a breath of spring.

Her cousins were right. She did need to get on with her life. To bask in the warmth and glory of a rough, rugged cowboy.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

To touch him? To lie beside his long-limbed, leanly muscled body?

“Yes,” she said.

He reached for a nylon article hanging beside the stall. “This is a halter.” He opened the door, entered the stall and buckled the horse into the headgear.

He led Caballero toward the barn door, and then stopped to say something in Spanish to a young Latino ranch hand, who looked at Julianne and nodded his head.

Once they were outside, Bobby tied the gelding to a hitching post. Julianne remained by his side, watching everything he did.

Yes, she thought. Yes. She wanted Bobby Elk. She wanted those big, calloused hands all over her.

The ranch hand appeared with a saddle and left it on a rack. Bobby thanked the young man in English and received a Spanish response.

After the ranch hand departed, he saddled the horse, explaining the process, naming the tack. Julianne listened, but now and then her mind drifted. Back to Bobby’s hands. Back to the fantasy of his touch.

“What are you hoping to gain from your first lesson?” he asked, tightening the girth. “What do you want out of this?”

You, she wanted to say. “Just the basics. So I can take one of the guided tours into the hills and feel comfortable.” She paused, brushed a stray hair away from her face. A few strands were coming loose from her ponytail. “Do you give those tours?”

He nodded. “I’m taking a group out tomorrow morning.”

She didn’t want to share him with a group. “Can I book a private tour instead?”

“Yes, but it’ll have to be on Thursday. That’s the only day I’m free. My schedule is pretty tight this week.”

She imagined being alone with him in the hills, surrounded by the scent of wildflowers and the warmth of the wind. “Then Thursday, it is. Now all I have to do is learn to ride.”

He finished tacking up the gelding. “Are you nervous?”

She shook her head, glanced at the gold band on Bobby’s finger.

“It’s important to relax,” he said. “To let the horse know you’re in control.”

As Bobby led Caballero, Julianne walked beside him, wondering how long he’d been married. Death had to be more stressful than divorce. She’d given up her wedding ring easily. Heck, she’d even considered flushing the meaningless thing down the toilet, but had opted to pawn it instead.

Once they were in the arena, she tried to clear her mind. But as she waited for the riding instruction to begin, she took an anxious breath.

Bobby studied her from her under the brim of his hat, the sun shining in his face. “I thought you weren’t nervous, Julianne.”

Okay, so maybe she was. But not about mounting the gelding. “Honestly, I’m fine.” Just suddenly scared to death about the decision she’d made, the choice to have sex with a stranger.

This stranger, she thought, glancing at his ring once again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” So he missed his wife, she thought. That didn’t mean he didn’t play around. The man was a widower, not a saint.

He gave her a boost when she wasn’t able to climb into the saddle on her own. Next, he adjusted her stirrups.

The lesson went easily from there. Bobby corrected her when she did something wrong and praised her when she did something right.

He remained in the center of the arena, the sun glinting off his belt buckle. She’d never undressed a cowboy, but she was more than willing to try.

He watched her walk the horse along the fence rail. “You’ve got a good seat, Julianne.”

She sent him a quick smile, assuming that meant she sat a horse well.

The instruction lasted for almost two hours and when she dismounted, her legs wobbled.

Bobby caught her shoulders and suddenly they were standing only inches apart. His chest rose and fell, and when he dipped his head to look at her, their eyes met.

Julianne’s mouth went dry. God, he was beautiful. A Cherokee masterpiece, with his copper skin and strong, sculpted features.

“You’ll get over that,” he said.

Over what? The wooziness in her knees? Or the silky sensation between her thighs? The heat of wanting him? “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He stepped back, his voice rough. Masculine. Much too husky.

Julianne attempted to steady her pulse, to give her lungs a dose of calm, even breathing. But the effort proved in vain. She wasn’t going to get over Bobby Elk until she was wrapped in his arms.

Warm and wet and naked, she thought.

Free and sinful.

Engaged in the affair of a lifetime.