Aspen Gold (47 page)

He ran a hand tiredly through his hair. It had been a long, full day. Then he smiled to himself and corrected that thought. If he was tired it was from the wonderful night he'd had. He paused a minute and pictured Kit again, standing at the door, waving to him when he drove out in the morning, a cup of coffee in her hand, a robe tied around her, and her hair still damp from the shower they'd shared. He'd almost stopped to see her before coming home, but he hadn't made it back to the house in time to see Laura before she left for school. Another hour and it would be her bedtime.

"Have you eaten? There's some cold roast and scalloped potatoes in the refrigerator. I can warm them up for you," Laura offered, sounding remarkably like the woman of the house.

"Thanks, but we sent out for sandwiches."

"Aunt Sondra called earlier," she told him.

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"No. She said she'd talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay." He walked over to the phone to call Kit.

"If you're calling Aunt Sondra, don't bother," Laura said when he picked up the receiver. "She won't be home. She's meeting some people for dinner tonight. That's why she said she'd talk to you tomorrow."

"I'm calling Kit. I told her I'd have Hec fill the Jeep with gas and get it back to her. I want to make sure he did." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to justify to Laura his reason for calling Kit.

"When did you see her?"

"Last night." He dialed Kit's number.

"She ran out of gas on her way home and I gave her a lift."

Laura frowned. "If the roads were good enough that you could drive her to Silverwood, how come you couldn't make it back home last night?"

Old Tom chortled faintly. "I'd like to hear the answer to that one myself."

"Hello, Kit," Bannon said when she answered after the first ring. Briefly he met the amused and knowing gleam in his father's eyes, then turned away to hide his own smile. "It's Bannon."

"Hi. I had a gorgeous day. Did you?"

"More or less," he replied, recalling the trouble he'd had concentrating on the court trial.

"It could be a gorgeous evening. I have a fire blazing away, a whole bag of marshmallows, and the fixings for some dangerous hot toddies. Care to join me?"

"I'm not sure." Conscious of Laura loitering nearby, he said, "Did Hec get the Jeep back to you okay?"

"Can't talk, eh?" That purr in her voice had an impish quality. Bannon instinctively braced himself.

"That's right."

"Did I mention that I'm sitting here with absolutely nothing on under this robe and I've dabbed perfume in the most unusual places.

Plus, I have this marvelous scented oil and a tape on how to give a massage. Of course I need a nude male to practice on, preferably one who will stretch out on the rug in front of the fireplace while I smooth the oil all over his shoulders, chest, hips, and stomach, then glide--"

"Kit," he said thickly, feeling the vital response of his own body and the heat settling with explicit directness in his groin.

She laughed, low and soft. "Am I bothering you?"

"And then some," he admitted.

"And you accused me of having a vivid imagination," she mocked, then laughed again. "All right, I'll be good. Yes, the Jeep is here, its gas tank full. And if you can't come tonight, I'll console myself with burnt marshmallows, a hot toddy, and the knowledge that I've given you cause to suffer a little, too."

"That's thoughtful of you."

"I can be wicked that way. So, tell me, how did court go today?"

Bannon repeated his earlier explanation, then added, "Since I don't have to be in court tomorrow, it means I'll have a light day."

"Light enough to slip away?"

"Maybe."

"I'm going to hold you to that definite

"maybe," she warned.

"Okay. Look, I'd better let you go."

"Okay." There was a slight pause before she added, "Bye. Miss you."

"Same here."

When he hung up, his glance was unexpectedly drawn to the wedding band on his finger. He touched it, not clear in his mind about the reason for his strong reluctance to take it off. It wasn't fair to Kit to wear it. Yet ... there was that look in Diana's eyes.

Sighing inwardly, Bannon turned back to the room, to the fire blazing cheerily in the massive fireplace of river stone, his father settled back in his chair, Laura curled in front of the television again, lights gleaming on the mellow log walls, and the timbered staircase that led to the second-floor bedrooms.

With no effort at all, he could picture Kit in this setting. She'd called this house her center, a place where she felt safe and secure. But she loved laughter, excitement, and good times. In that, she was like Diana. And her life in Hollywood would only have reinforced that love. For a time she might be content here. But this ranch, this home, this life would never be enough to satisfy her. He knew that. just as he knew he'd let her go before he'd see Kit look at him the way Diana had.

It would hurt to do it; it would hurt like hell, but it would kill him to see that reproach in Kit's eyes.

The morning sun blazed from a brilliant blue sky, turning the snow-covered landscape a dazzling white. The wind was still and the air was bracing, the jangle of harness and trace chains ringing clear and sharp across the winter pasture. The team of sorrel draft horses snorted steam as they plodded through the snow, pulling the flatbed wagon and leaving broken bales of cured hay and hungry cattle strung out in their wake.

Hec Rawlins kicked the last bale off the wagon. "That's it," he shouted to Bannon in a voice faintly breathless from the cold air and the exertion.

Bannon chirruped to the team and tapped their shaggy rumps with a slap of the reins. The pair broke into a steady trot back to the barns and their morning ration of oats.

From the day the first log was cut to build the ranch house, there had been draft horses on Stone Creek. They were as much a part of its heritage as the log house and the cattle. Once, they'd been raised to supply the demand for draft stock to pull the freight and ore wagons in the mining town of Aspen. Over the years, the size of the herd had been cut to two mares and their offspring of various ages in various stages of training, enough to meet today's limited market for well-broken teams to haul tourists around.

Even without that market, Bannon would have kept some of the draft stock for sentimental reasons--

and for the pleasure of it. A tractor might do a faster job of hauling hay to the cattle, but the chug of its engines and the smell of its exhaust couldn't compete for enjoyment with the jingle of harness and the heat smell of warm-blooded animals on a crisp winter morning.

"Whoa up, now." He pulled them up to the hay barn and jumped down to unhook the wagon.

Fifteen minutes later, the sorrel geldings were in their stalls, munching on grain, the harness was back in its proper place in the tack room, and Bannon was headed for the house.

As he climbed the stone steps, he noticed a set of skis and poles propped against the log wall by the front door. When he walked in the house, he heard the familiar sound of Kit's laugh and followed it to the kitchen.

He found her there, leaning against a counter, the jacket to her teal-and-black ski suit unzipped, both hands wrapped around a coffee cup, and her cheeks still pink from the cold. The mere sight of her warmed the morning chill from his own body.

"Good morning." Her eyes sparkled at him over the rim of her coffee cup. "The coffee's still hot if you want a cup."

"That's right, Bannon. Help yourself," Old Tom urged, an immensely pleased look on his face.

"I think I will." He peeled off his heavy work gloves as he crossed to the coffeepot on the counter and filled a cup. "I saw the skis on the porch and wondered who was here."

"It's a beautiful day, first snow of the season, the powder's fresh and deep; I thought I'd head up to the lake." Kit blew on her coffee and took a sip, still watching him. "Old Tom was just saying it had been a long time since you played hockey. Want to come along with me?"

Although definitely tempted, he hesitated.

"Some calls came in while I was in court yesterday. I should return them and--"

"Listen to him," Old Tom snorted.

"Wants his arm twisted. If he hadn't settled that case last night, he'd be in court today and couldn't return those calls he's trying to make sound important."

"Maybe he's just using them as an excuse because he's afraid he's too out of shape to make it to the lake on skis," Kit suggested to Old Tom.

Recognizing a challenge when he heard one, Bannon leaned a hip against the counter and drawled, "I can make it."

"Prove it." She took a sip of coffee.

"You're on."

Twenty minutes later, Old Tom stood at the living-room window and watched the two of them set out, all smiles and laughter, their eyes exchanging unspoken thoughts the way a man and wife did.

"That's a sight I thought these tired old eyes of mine would never see again." He turned from the window with a wondering shake of his head.

Coming out of the trees, Kit let her momentum carry her up the hillock, then carved out a stop at the crest of it. Exhilarated and winded from that last run, she planted her poles in the snow and paused to catch her breath as Bannon swooshed to a halt near her. She glanced at him, but said nothing, hushed by the awesome silence that surrounded them.

She lowered her goggles, her attention captured by the vista of far-flung mountains standing tall and proud in their white-robed majesty.

Below, a small, bowl-shaped valley of whipped cream and diamonds encircled a lake that gleamed like a blue jewel. And the two of them, alone, in the midst of this lonely, powerful grandeur.

Again she was swept by a feeling of timelessness. That sun overhead had shone its light upon this land through a time that had neither beginning nor end. Her life was little more than one small beat in the never-ending pulse of the universe. What was life but a moment of happiness seized? Glory didn't last.

Fame didn't last. Only one thing remained as constant through time as the sun--the love between a man and a woman.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Bannon said, leaning on his poles, his breath coming out in a vapory rush.

"Stunning," she murmured, conscious of the sudden, wonderful ache in her throat.

"Ready?"

"If you are," she said, then caught at his elbow, stopping him before he could push off.

"Look. Isn't that smoke coming from that old line cabin by the lake?" She pointed with a ski pole at the faint curl of gray smoke rising from its roof.

"I think it is." Bannon frowned.

"Did you tell someone they could stay there?"

"No. Come on. We'd better check it out."

He pushed off and Kit followed.

As they neared the cabin, Bannon gestured to the ski tracks in the snow. "Could be a couple of skiers making a long cross-country, stopping here for a rest."

"Maybe." It was a logical assumption.

Bannon helloed the cabin when they reached it.

There was no response from inside. "Wait here,"

he said, taking off his skis. "I'm going to have a look inside."

"Not without me." She propped her skis next to his against the cabin and let Bannon go in first.

An old iron stove warmed the cabin's one small room. A thermos and two clean mugs sat on the wood table, its age-blackened top covered by a red wool scarf. A soft mohair afghan in shades of red, rose, and wine draped the wide cot along the wall.

"That's strange," Bannon murmured. "There aren't any packs, any gear--" He stopped and swung back to Kit, his eyes narrowing in gleaming suspicion. "You wouldn't happen to know how this happened, would you?"

"Could be some elves at work," she suggested and wandered over to the table. "I wonder what's in this?"

She picked up the thermos and unscrewed the lid.

"Smells like hot toddies. Do you think the elves will mind if we have a sip? just to warm up a bit?"

"Somehow, I have the feeling the "elves"

won't mind a bit." His smile turned lazy and knowing as he advanced toward her. "Considering you're the elf responsible."

"How did you guess that?" she asked in mock demand.

"The thermos. It has your father's initials on it." He hooked an arm around her, drawing her to him.

"You are a very perceptive man, Bannon,"

she declared.

"No." He cupped the side of her face in his rough palm, a warmth in his eyes--and a leashed hunger, too. "I'm just a man who loves you very much."

She lost her breath at his heart-tugging words.

Then his mouth was moving over hers in a light and tasting kiss. It was like falling into softness, through layer upon layer of softness, all of it closing about her, warm and painfully good. The feeling was a sustained wave that held her even after he lifted his mouth. She released a small sigh and traced the outline of his lips with the tips of her fingers, then swayed until she was against him, enfolded by his circling arms.

Slowly, his lips explored the margin between her hair and her face, traced the arch of her eyebrows, whispered over her closed eyelids, and breathed warmth onto her cheeks. Enthralled by the exquisite and unexpected tenderness of his touch, Kit couldn't move; she couldn't breathe. When his lips at last brushed her mouth, she sighed his name.

He rubbed his lips over her mouth again.

Blindly, she turned her face to follow his maddening mouth when it moved away. Finding it, she stopped it and mated with it. His hands flexed, pulling her closer. She arched against him, bending to fit herself to the curve of his body, matching a woman's soft heat to a man's hard need.

Reaching up, she swept his hat from his head and dropped it to the floor, burying her fingers in his hair. She pressed close, so close she could feel every ripple of muscle, the buttons on his jacket, the metal of his belt buckle, and the larger, harder ridge in his ski pants.

He smoothed his hand inside her jacket, stopping at her breast and caressing it in hot silence. Her sweater and sheer bra were no barrier against the sensation of it--or her reaction to it. She was more than conscious of the impatient tugging of his hands as he pushed the jacket from her shoulders and arms, then pulled the sweater over her head.