Lifeline Echoes (10 page)

He looked dangerous and arrogant, and . . .
thrilling, standing there with his black hat cocked back on his
head. Quickly, she raised her camera and snapped several pictures
in rapid succession.

"Seriously," she pushed while she continued
to shoot. "What did you do? Walk through a wall?"

"I walked through the door in the back wall.
Does that count as walking through a wall?"

"Okay, smarty, would it have been too much
trouble to just say, 'Sandy, there's a back door'?"

"Sandy?" His grin widened, his eyes were
twin emerald glints of trouble. "There's a back door."

Muttering a particularly graphic suggestion
about what he could do with his back door, Sandy snapped one last
picture before turning her back, pointedly ignoring him while she
shot pictures of Galaxy and Buck.

****

Grateful Sandy was distracted with her
camera, Ryan walked to the back of the cabin again. The trampled
grass near the back door bothered him, especially since he'd found
the door unlocked. Maybe hikers had come upon the place and
forgotten to lock up when they left. But he doubted hikers would
have scoured the place clean. The strong smell of bleach and pine
cleaner in the enclosed space made his eyes water.

Nothing appeared to be damaged, though, and
he wasn't certain being too clean didn't sound like an oxymoron.
Still, he found it disturbing.

Ryan came around to the front of the cabin
and once again found himself spellbound by Sandy. She was lying on
her belly, apparently trying to get the perfect photo, and that was
definitely having a profound physical effect on him. But there was
something deeper there as well, something emotional he wasn't quite
sure about yet. Something he wasn't sure he was ready for, no
matter how strongly his body reacted.

Right on cue with his lascivious thoughts,
Sandy rolled onto her back. Balancing herself with one knee flexed,
she looked along the length of her body. "Hey, Mr. Wildflower
Expert. Tell me the names of some of these flowers." She gestured
toward the field beyond her.

All Ryan saw was the way her curves strained
against her shirt with the motion and the way her jeans hugged her
legs. Flowers were the last thing on his mind.

With enormous effort, he pulled the names
his mother had taught him from his memory. "The lavender spikes are
lupines. The orange and pink are poppies. The yellow flowers are
prairie daisies."

"What about the tiny white and pink ones?"
she asked.

Ryan's lips twitched, and he tore his gaze
away from the sensual woman lying on the ground before he answered
in a slightly strained voice. "Those are called pussytoes."

Her sultry laughter resonated like a
drumbeat pulsing through his blood. He considered crossing the
space between them and teaching her about more than wildflowers,
then decided not to make it so easy on either of them.

Lowering himself to the porch, Ryan settled
his back against the wooden railing. He dangled one leg lazily over
the edge, kicking at the tufts of tall grass next to the step.
Tipping his hat over his eyes, he let his thoughts drift.

When he'd first made plans to come home, he
hadn't considered staying beyond the time it would take to help his
family. That had all changed on a mountain road at sunset, before
he'd even pulled onto the ranch. And now? Well, that was one of the
questions to be explored, wasn't it? Right now, he didn't have any
idea of what he wanted to do. Or with whom.

Sandy's unique fragrance, an exhilarating
blend of candy, fruit, and spice, tickled his nostrils, and his
awareness of her was instantly heightened to an exquisite level.
His body was stirring into a pleasant response to her proximity
when he felt the barest brush of something tickling his cheek, then
his lips.

Slowly, he opened one eye and peeked out
from beneath the brim of his hat. Sandy was on her knees in front
of him, igniting his very explicit imagination along with the
corresponding part of his anatomy. Her eyes were lit by mischief
and her lips were curled into what he could only think of as a
naughty smile. She held a chicory blossom and had obviously been
tickling his face.

When Ryan's hand snaked out and clamped onto
her forearm, Sandy's squeal of surprise morphed into a peal of
carefree laughter, washing over him and tugging at long-dormant
emotions.

With his free hand, Ryan tipped his Stetson
further back on his head to get a better look. "You're playin' with
fire, Chicory."

"Really," she drawled, her blue eyes
gleaming. "And here I thought I was playing with a cowboy." She
moved closer, her soft curves brushing against his knees.

"Sweetheart, you've got about five seconds
to stop before I finish what you're starting." Four. Three. Two.
Too late.

Sandy removed his hat and tossed it
carelessly onto the porch behind her. Blue eyes scorched a
devastating path upward to his mouth. Like a serpent, she leisurely
slithered her body upward along the same track her eyes had just
taken. With her mouth less than an inch from his, she whispered,
"Do I look like I want to stop?"

****

His muscles tensed under her touch, stirring
the waiting embers of her yearning. Sandy brushed her lips softly
against his, pressing little feathery kisses over his jaw, down his
throat. Molded against him as she was, nothing was left to her
imagination. He was not immune to her advances. Still, he made no
move except to slowly release his hold on her arm.

Drawing away just enough to meet his gaze,
Sandy slid her hands to his shoulders. Those green eyes were filled
with a heat that matched hers, but they also contained unexpected
emotion and longing. She wavered, uncertain how she felt about what
she saw. Then her own emotions tugged.

"Hey," she murmured, when he remained
frozen. "Please don't tell me you're afraid of what the wildlife
will think if we make love."

Ryan's lips twitched and something
unreadable flickered in his eyes. He shifted, bracing one hand on
her waist. Lifting his other hand to her face, he gently traced the
line of her jaw with his fingertips, caressing her cheek with his
thumb. The butterfly touch grazing her lips sparked an ache of
intense longing.

"More like wondering what you'll think after
we make love, Chicory." His voice was roughened by the battle
between desire and self-restraint. "Feels like we're about to jump
headfirst into a bonfire. I want you. It feels like I've wanted you
for—" He shook his head helplessly then sighed. "For longer than
I've known you."

Sandy trembled, feeling the passion in his
look as though he were physically touching her. He'd just expressed
exactly what she was feeling. She couldn't keep her voice steady.
"Are you worried I'll complicate things by wanting a
commitment?"

Ryan shook his head slowly, still holding
her eyes with his own. "No. I'm not worried about that at all." His
hand lowered to her collar bone, where his fingers teased. A
shudder of need rocked her. "Actually, it might just be me
complicating things that way. Chicory, something's happening
between us. I like it. A lot. But it's happening real fast."

She understood. This was
bigger than both of them. It was downright scary. Sandy shifted her
gaze over to where the horses were grazing. Their obvious
contentment was in direct contrast to her current tumultuous
emotions. Things
were
happening fast with Ryan. But somehow they felt right. Sandy
swung her eyes back to him, met his hot green stare head on. "I
want this. Can that be enough for now?"

Ryan drew a shaky breath but when he spoke
his words were steady. "I don't know. Because right now it feels
like I'm gonna want more. A whole lot more. I'm not looking for
friendly benefits, Sandy."

Pleasant warmth erupted from a pinpoint spot
in the center of her chest, radiated outward until she felt it
would engulf her. Sandy leveled her gaze to meet his. With a slight
shake of her head, she whispered, "No. I'm not either."

He traced the line of her jaw. "I don't know
what it is, either but I do feel . . . something with you that I
haven’t felt since—" he shrugged.

"I know," she said quietly. "I feel it, too
. . . something. A kind of connection with you. But I don't know
what it is and I don't know what to do with it."

Ryan closed his eyes, slowly let out a
breath. When he opened them again, they were darkened with a mix of
desire and need that sucked the breath from her lungs. Sliding a
hand behind her head, he pulled her toward him. She was inches from
his mouth, and his lips curved into a gentle smile. Her heart began
a slow melt.

Heat flared between them and his lips were
on hers, possessing, giving, taking, thrilling. She felt the
intensity of his ardor like an explosion, added her own fire into
the combustible mix.

Frenzied hands grasped the edges of her
outer shirt and stripped it from her shoulders, using it to catch
her arms together behind her back while he leaned forward and
feasted on her throat. She arched into the touch, needing it more
than she would have thought possible.

Finally, he peeled the shirt off the rest of
the way, tossing it aside. His hands were already sliding under her
tank, running up both sides, over her heated skin. One settled at
the base of her ribs, the other hooked around to the small of her
back and pulled her closer.

Sandy could only fist a hand in his hair and
hang on as his caresses carried her toward an end she refused to
fear. When Ryan's mouth moved over hers, she nipped at his lower
lip. His velvet tongue pushed between her lips, stroking, tasting,
taking.

She lost herself at the intersection where
physical sensation met emotion, helpless to stop anything now even
if she wanted to. She didn't want to.

In one fluid movement, he pulled back. His
gaze swept over her, as hot as his touch. Needy. Bold.
Possessive.

****

Ryan's pulse jumped to heart attack levels
at the sight of her fair skin beneath his sun-bronzed hand. He
needed to feel more of her skin against his. Frantically, he tugged
at his own shirt, then felt her fingers working the buttons.

The vibration emanating from her throat when
she ran her hands over the bare skin from his waist to his chest
stoked him to flashover and he felt an answering groan issue from
his own throat. He knelt, hauling her up against him until her skin
glided along his. They held each other that way; face to face, skin
to skin, heat to heat, the beginning of a firestorm. Sandy fisted
her hands in Ryan's hair and drew him even closer. It was all the
invitation he needed. Every touch, every sensation, every response
fueled his fervor.

He would never get enough of this. He bent
his head to capture her lips in a deep, slow kiss that drove them
both senseless.

He didn’t know what it was, the sensation of
uneasiness that crawled like a line of insects from the base of his
neck on a direct line to the center of his brain. As the feeling of
awareness grew, Ryan drew away from Sandy. He pulled his feet
beneath him into a crouch, then stood, drawing her up with him and
walking her backward further beneath the porch roof. Silently, he
warned her to stay put before he moved to the end of the porch and
looked across the field.

Everything seemed serene and idyllic.
Nothing disturbed the horses. Birds were singing. There were no
frantic squawks, no eerie silences. But there was something off,
something just at the edge of his awareness, causing an edgy
feeling. And it wasn't going away.

He glanced over his shoulder at Sandy,
regarding him with unvoiced questions in her eyes. She'd pulled her
shirt back onto her shoulders. He sighed. It was just as well. The
mood was pretty much shot for now anyway.

****

Chapter Six

"Much better than rattlesnake." Ryan popped
the last of a spicy tortilla into his mouth. Stretching out his
long legs, he rolled onto his side, propped his head on one arm,
and took pleasure in watching Sandy's hands as she chopped a pair
of mangos into bite-sized pieces.

Sitting cross-legged in
front of him, she drew her sharp knife through the rind of a lime,
cutting it in half before looking up. "Says the man who didn't pack
anything
or
rustle up a rattlesnake." She squeezed both lime halves over
the chopped mangos with a motion that had Ryan thinking of more
sensual pursuits.

He tore his gaze from her hands and lifted a
shoulder. "I didn't have to. You brought a whole kitchen with
you."

She plucked a chunk of mango from the bowl
between them. When she held it to his lips, he took the fruit into
his mouth, then snagged her hand, bringing it back to his lips and
licking the sweet stickiness from her fingers. When he swirled his
tongue over the tip of her index finger, she touched her tongue to
her lips. Ryan's blood began a quick drain southward.

With a tiny smile, Sandy slipped a chunk
into her own mouth. "Did you know the mango tree is sacred in
India? It's a symbol of love and some people believe it can grant
wishes."

Keeping his eyes on her, Ryan slipped
another piece into his mouth and chewed slowly. She seemed intent
on setting a more leisurely pace. At least one of them had sane
thought processes. She took another piece of fruit into her mouth,
this time sucking on it, closing her eyes in obvious delight.
Watching her eat was becoming an excursion into exquisite sensual
torture.

"Do you have wishes, Sandy?" Time for a
different kind of distraction.

She shook her head. "No, not anymore. I
think I've used up my quota of wishes. What about you?"