Authors: Kay Springsteen
For the first time, Ryan really took notice
of the pictures he'd seen the evening before. "Those are
yours?"
"They are," she acknowledged ruefully. Then
she shrugged. "Just a few personal impressions of the area since I
moved here."
"A woman of many talents." Now didn't seem
quite the right time to ask what other talents might be in her
repertoire. "They're really good. They remind me of everything I
missed when I was gone. Do you sell many?"
Sandy's hands stilled in the middle of
arranging silverware. She blinked a couple of times in surprise.
"That'd be a no, since they aren't for sale. They're just something
I play around with."
Her tinkling laughter tiptoed across the air
between them and settled against his ears with a little sigh.
"I'd buy them." He didn't realize he'd
spoken aloud until she chuckled.
"Just tell me which ones you like and
they're yours."
Ryan found himself grinning along with her
as she told outrageous stories about shooting the photos he was
browsing. He rolled the mouse over another album, surprised when he
found pictures of wild mustangs. She had caught them running,
grazing, with foals. There was even a series of photos illustrating
a disagreement between two stallions.
"I know where this is," Ryan said, lightly
tapping the screen with a forefinger. "This is Cross MC high
pasture." He frowned. "We got mustangs running there?"
Sandy shrugged. "Apparently. At least they
were there last week. I wanted to stay longer but it's a long ride
and Domingo was getting ornery."
Ryan snorted. "When isn't that horse
ornery?"
"He's a good horse," Sandy insisted.
"He tried to take a bite out of me." Ryan
related his experience mucking stalls.
****
"He . . . might be a little touchy," Sandy
admitted. "Anyway, I want to go back to see the mustangs. But I'm
afraid of Domingo starting trouble with the bay stallion."
She stopped talking when she noticed Ry had
stopped going through her photo albums and was sitting, his chin
propped on one hand watching her as though entranced.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked.
"Not a lot," she drawled. "What are you
doing tonight?"
Ryan stared.
Really, the look on his face was comical.
Like he couldn't believe his luck and then suddenly realized he'd
left his only condom at home in his other pants. "Relax, Cowboy,
I'm not inviting you up to my room."
Yet
.
"Okay." His voice sounded a bit
strangled.
Sandy laughed. "Saturday crowd here's
usually pretty fun. And it's the first Saturday of the month."
****
Chapter Four
Singles night used to be fun. Watching the
couples meet, sometimes leaving together, and sometimes drifting
into longer term relationships had always appealed to Sandy's
romantic heart.
But she'd gone and invited Ryan and now she
was watching all the predatory single women in the county vying for
the seat next to his at the bar. Worse, tending bar meant she was
delivering the abundance of drinks the women who lost at the game
of musical barstools were sending his way from across the room.
What had seemed like an opportunity to poke
fun at Ryan was backfiring. He looked particularly pleased with
himself as she slid yet another beer across the bar in his
direction.
"From the lovely lady on the end," she said
brightly.
Ryan leaned forward to acknowledge the
dark-haired woman, who was probably ten years his senior. With each
drink, Sandy felt herself getting snippier. Almost as though she
might be . . . jealous. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Wasn't
it?
"Can you do me a favor and start serving me
just Coke?" he asked. "I'd like to be able to drive home in one
piece."
Sandy leaned on the counter and motioned him
to come closer. "Or maybe you'll score and you won't have to drive
home at all," she whispered.
A grin flashed. "Offering?"
Slowly she looked him over. "Nope. Excuse
me, I have another customer."
Ryan merely shrugged, a half-smile playing
around his lips as his eyes settled on her mouth before she turned
away. Her step faltered, just a little, when she thought she heard
his soft chuckle, but she kept on walking.
Standing by the beer taps, Sandy watched him
finish off his drink and say goodbye to the redhead who had
occupied the seat next to him for the past hour. Her hands were all
over his arm as she leaned against him and slid a napkin his way.
She said something and Ryan shot her a killer smile. Then she was
gone.
"You should go on break, get the seat next
to him before it's occupied again," Mel murmured, pulling another
mug of beer.
Sandy glowered over her shoulder. "He's not
exactly a sad country song when it comes to companionship tonight.
I've delivered more drinks to him than the rest of the single men
here put together."
Mel smiled smugly. "But I bet he'd actually
drink the one from you. He's been watching you all night."
Sandy was acutely aware of that, and pleased
about it.
"Oops, sorry hon." Mel laughed. "You're too
late. Bertie just took the seat."
"What?" Sandy whirled to see the young,
willowy girl with the straight honey-brown hair laughing at
something Ryan said. "Guess I'd better take her order."
"Wanna take me for a ride in your hot car?"
Bertie walked her fingers along Ryan's arm and lowered her voice.
"We could go someplace private."
"Hello, Roberta, nice to see you." Sandy
smiled though she wanted to break the girl's fingers. "Ryan, have
you met Roberta Higgins?"
Ryan took a closer look at the girl,
obviously trying to figure out if he should know her. Bertie smiled
engagingly at the attention.
"What can I get you?" asked Sandy.
"How about a rum and Coke for us both?"
suggested Bertie, tilting her face toward Ryan with a wide-eyed
smile.
"Certainly. Just let me check your ID real
quick."
Bertie's face fell. "Oh, come on, Sandy. You
know my birthday's next month."
Sandy feigned regret. "I'm sorry, Bertie. I
can't break the law. You know how DC is about those things."
Bertie frowned. "My dad got you to do this,
didn't he?"
"No, Roberta, it really is
the law," Sandy corrected, her voice cooling. "But your dad
would
have a lot to say
if he knew you were here, wouldn't he?"
Bertie's smile lost some of its perkiness.
She looked up at Ryan. "So, do you still want to go for a
ride?"
"I'll have to take a rain check," Ryan said
with an easy smile.
Pouting, the young girl left, her gliding
walk filled with youthful sex appeal. Most of the men present
watched her exit. But not Ryan, Sandy noted with approval.
****
Ryan chuckled. Chicory had been jealous
enough to interrupt a potential pickup. Interesting. "So, who's
this father of hers who'd have so much to say?"
"Bobby Higgins. Brother Bobby Higgins of the
New Life Christian Church across the street."
His sudden panic must have shown on his
face.
She snickered. "Yeah, you just got hit on by
the preacher's daughter."
About to sip his soda, Ryan reversed
direction and set the glass down on the bar with a little thud,
pretty certain he was about to be struck blind for even looking at
the girl. He indicated the glass in front of him. "I think I need
something stronger after all."
"Don't forget you still have to get yourself
home tonight," Sandy warned as she walked away.
He nursed the beer Sandy had delivered and
wondered how much longer she would let his torment go on. He didn't
want any of the endless parade of single women hitting on him. He
was only interested in one sexy single tonight.
Moments later, he felt someone slide onto
the seat next to him, and closed his eyes, wondering what the
opening line would be this time.
"Buy you a drink, Cowboy?"
At the sound of the whiskey-honey voice
behind him, Ryan's eyes flew open. His breathing skidded to a stop,
the air backing up in his lungs. His heart bumped hard against his
chest wall, pushing a massive amount of adrenaline through his
veins.
When he was capable of movement again, he
spun around, half afraid she wouldn't really be there. But she
was.
She leaned toward him, chin propped on the
back of one elegant hand, a near-smile tugging her lips. Her eyes
said he was the only other person in the room.
He pulled in a slow breath, felt his
unsteady world right itself. "Hello, Chicory."
****
The first gray light of dawn was nudging the
night aside when the 'Vette's headlights sliced across the bar's
now empty parking lot. He'd stayed so late the night before, he'd
nearly closed the place. Only the knowledge of their Sunday riding
date had motivated him to leave so he could be well-rested for
their excursion.
Spending time with Sandy was becoming easy,
almost second nature. What had begun as heated interest was rapidly
moving to something else. Something he could neither define nor
explain. He only knew being around her was comfortable. If he was
honest, he had to admit that scared him just a little. What did it
say about him that he could so easily move on?
He was halfway across the parking lot when
his steps faltered. Silhouetted by the bar's exterior lighting,
Sandy looked ethereal, an angel emerging from the brilliance to
join him in darkness. The image was oddly as disturbing as it was
exciting but if he'd been asked why, he couldn't have explained.
Shaking his head against the rush of emotion that baffled him, Ryan
crossed the distance between them to relieve her of the heavy pack
she carried.
"What's in here?" He tested the weight.
"Lunch, a few essentials, my camera. Why? Is
it too heavy for you?" She reached for it, but he jerked the pack
up, out of her reach, and she lost her balance. She saved herself
from falling with a hand on his left hip. Ryan sucked in a huge
gulp of air.
Sandy snatched her hand back. "Sorry. Did I
hurt you?"
"No." He bit the word off, gritting his
teeth against his instant physical reaction to her touch.
Ryan turned away, concentrating on cramming
the overloaded pack into a trunk barely large enough to hold the
spare tire. He had no intention of starting their day together with
his obvious state of arousal between them. He turned back only when
he felt his control returning.
And immediately made the mistake of looking
at her.
This wasn't the sexy singer from Friday
night, or the provocative bartender from the night before. In the
gray predawn light, her face was softer, more tender. Her
incredible eyes wide, a sense of sweetness surrounded her, bringing
visions of carousels and cotton candy to his mind. A smile played
around full lips he already knew were soft and welcoming. But it
was the morning wind lifting an escaped tendril of dark hair that
did him in.
He wanted to see the rest of her hair
spilling around her shoulders. He wanted to touch it, run his hands
through it.
"Heck with it," he muttered, closing his
hands on her upper arms and jerking her up against him.
****
She had a moment to utter a very pleased,
"Oh!" before his lips were crushing hers. Heat rose between them,
swirled around them. This was no chaste good-morning kiss. This one
packed the heat and promise of the rising sun. When he drifted
back, she followed him.
In a clever dance of kissing and caressing,
pushing and leaning, they moved into and around each other. Sandy
found herself pressed against the trunk of his fast, sexy car,
while his fast, sexy hands found their way to the edges of her
over-sized man's cotton shirt. He parted the garment and the heat
from his hands branded her through the tank shirt beneath.
Sandy fisted her hands in sun-kissed hair
and held on, moaning deep in her throat. With a feral growl, Ryan
lifted Sandy and set her atop the trunk. He settled against her,
his mouth burning electrifying kisses along her throat. Her heart
settled into a heavy, rhythmic beat, a primitive drum, pushing heat
through her system, stealing her ability to draw regular
breaths.
****
Even through two layers of clothing, the
sizzle emanating from Sandy slammed into him. His hands fumbled
frantically for the hem of her shirt. He was desperate to feel
more, to stroke and stoke her fire. As she settled more intimately
against him, he felt his fuse about to be lit.
He could have her on the trunk of his car in
the crisp early morning air. She was as eager and excited as he,
and they could finish things right here, in front of her bar,
across the street from the New Life Christian Church, where in just
over three hours, Brother Bobby Higgins would be preaching his
sermon to his modest congregation.
One of Sandy's hands rested at his waist,
her fingers making tiny movements. Remaining upright became
difficult.
"You know, I have a room upstairs," she
murmured against his throat.
Ryan moaned. Sanity and reason began to
filter to the front of his rutting brain. With no small sense of
reluctance, he pulled back, and stood with his hands braced on
either side of her, where she sat on the trunk of his car. What was
he doing? How was he finding the last seven years of his life so
easy to ignore? And what would this behavior mean to Sandy's
position in the community? He stood upright and pulled a hand
across his jaw. He had to stop the madness.