Chapter Six
What Malin wished for the previous night came true—her sleep proved thoroughly refreshing. Because of that, or probably because she’d see Tag today, she couldn’t help smiling. Although both sisters gave her quizzical looks, Malin kept her secret to herself. Today would be Tag’s first chance to make an appearance at a pre-determined time. She wanted to be sure he fulfilled that implied promise before announcing the planned ride. Hopefully, he wouldn’t act like her old boyfriend, Peter, who had often cancelled at the last minute and left her hanging.
As soon as she updated the website and checked for emailed reservations, she rushed out to the barn to groom two horses. Her favorite mare, Stormy, came right to the stall door and accepted the offered chunks of carrot. “Hello, Stormy. I hope one of the hands has been treating you right. I’ve been so busy I’ve been neglecting you.” She lifted a hackamore over the gray’s ears and settled the rope on her neck. “Today, we’ll have a nice, long ride.” Malin led Stormy from the stall, walked her across the barn’s aisle, and slipped the end of the rope through an iron ring on a post. Then she went into the nearby tack room to grab the handle of the battered wooden crate filled with grooming tools.
After slipping on the curry comb, she circled it over Stormy’s coat, working dirt and bits of straw to the surface. Then she grabbed a hard-bristled brush to scrape away the loose hair until the gray shined like pewter. “You’re such a pretty girl. Don’t these strokes feel so good?” The way the mare stood still through the procedure hinted at her pleasure for the attention. Using the softest brush in the box, she worked it over the face and legs with an extra-light touch. Saddling her and switching the hackamore for a bridle and bit took only a few minutes.
Then Malin repeated the process for Big Red. This roan gelding was the most recent horse brought onto the ranch. She hadn’t worked much with the seventeen-hand high animal. Tag sounded like he had more experience around horses than she and could handle any of the gelding’s bad habits. She stepped near the horse’s shoulders. “Hello, Big Red. You are a gorgeous animal. Look at the breadth of your chest.”
With her right hand, she rubbed the comb in circles and followed with swipes of the stiff brush in her left. “Reminds me of a man I know.” She ran the comb on both sides of the neck before moving to the roan’s hindquarters. “Such fine muscle definition on your rump.” Was complimenting a horse silly? Maybe, but she didn’t care. Today, silly and carefree described her mood. She stretched on tiptoes to comb his back but had to duck into the tack room for a stepstool.
Once she climbed the steps and reached toward the horse’s back, she spotted a silhouetted figure leaning against a stall. Recognizing the man’s straw Stetson was the only reason for biting back her building scream. Then she remembered her comments and tossed a glare his way. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Can’t remember exactly. Maybe since your comment about a broad chest”—he inhaled and squared his shoulders—“or maybe when you complimented the horse’s tight rump.” He turned and pulled his jeans tight across his rear, grinning over his shoulder. “See something familiar?”
Heat flamed her cheeks, but she couldn’t deny she’d compared Tag’s physique to the horse’s. “Why doesn’t that hat just pop right off your swelled head like a champagne cork?”
“No swelling of this head. Just hearing confirmation of the obvious facts.” With long strides, he sauntered close. “Got a pick handy? I’ll clean his hooves.”
His outfit was one-hundred percent All-American cowboy from his denim shirt with the sleeves rolled back on his forearms to faded tight jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. If she stared any longer, drool might drip from her mouth. Shaking her head, she pointed the brush toward the grooming box. “In there. I always leave that task for last. Not my favorite.”
“I can do the gray’s, as well.”
“Appreciate the offer.” After quick strokes through his mane, she finished with the roan and returned the stool to the tack room. Then she took her turn at watching as Tag scraped out the horse’s hooves and cupped his big hands around their joints, checking for the heat of inflammation. That he was thorough didn’t surprise her. The realization sent her thoughts skittering to other activities where his attention might be just as diligent. Her pulse kicked into overdrive.
Without a task to focus on, Malin fretted about this ride. What would they talk about? Why had she even asked him along? Her original purpose had been for relaxation. Now, she doubted she’d draw a full breath until she watched his truck driving away at the end of the visit.
“All finished.” Tag stood about five feet away holding up the grooming box.
She blinked to focus then stretched out a hand. “Let me put that away, and we’ll head out.” Inside the tack room, she stole a couple of moments to brush her hands over stray wisps of hair and reposition the clip holding her hair at the nape of her neck. Then she grabbed her cowgirl hat and jammed it on her head. Turning and stepping forward, she almost plowed into Tag.
He held his position then slowly leaned down. “I wanted to say a proper hello.” Tilting his head to avoid knocking off their hats, he brushed a light kiss across her lips then eased away.
His coffee-scented breath lingered. “Hello.” The gesture was simple but oh so sweet. A thrill shivered through her.
Horse hoofs clumped down the middle aisle, and a dog dashed inside the tack room, tag wagging.
Tag huffed out a breath. “Barns used to be good places to sneak a kiss. At least, best as I can remember from my high school days.”
Grateful for the distraction, Malin dropped to one knee and ruffled the fur on the Australian Shepherd’s neck. Metal tags jingled together. She flipped one over and spotted a name. “Well, hi there, Barney. I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Is that you, Malin?”
She stood and glanced over at the dark-haired cowboy astride the buckskin called Biscuit. “Afternoon, Ryan. Is this your dog?”
“Yep.” He waved a hand toward the horses. “Who’s riding?”
Hoping her flushed cheeks had returned to normal, she moved through the door. “I’m going with my friend, Tag.” She half-turned and gestured.
Tag followed and stepped to the horse to shake hands with the cowboy. “Tag Redmond.”
“Ryan Fletcher.”
“Malin, do you mind grabbing me a box of fencing nails? Since you’re here, I won’t have to dismount and tie up the horse.”
She hurried to the back corner of the barn where those supplies were kept. As she jogged back, she tossed him the box. “We’re riding along the creek probably as far as Rocky Point. I already told Tilda and Jude, but I thought someone down here should know, too.” Then she vaulted into the saddle and headed for the door.
Tag joined her and they walked into the warm afternoon sun together.
“Do you always tell a ranch hand your destination?” He tugged the hat brim a bit lower to block the slanted sunlight.
“We do. Luckily, that rule has been in place for as long as I can remember.” Tag’s mention of high school prompted a memory. “Probably initiated when my father realized his three teenage daughters were meeting boys at far-flung spots on the ranch.”
“So, you didn’t always use the barn?”
Laughing, she shook her head. “Almost never. Too many people coming and going.” By now, they’d trotted a football- field length from the barn.
“That fact has been proven.”
She clucked her tongue and tapped Stormy’s sides with her boot heels. “Let’s ride.” The mare gathered speed beneath her. Malin caught the animal’s rocking rhythm, leaning forward in the saddle. Spots of wildflower color mixed with the green prairie grass flashed into view then disappeared. She wished the meadow went on longer, but ahead, the trees of the Lewis and Clark National Forest loomed. Easing back on the reins, she murmured, “Take it slow, Stormy.”
From behind came the hoof beats from Tag’s approaching horse. “That was fun. You’re a good rider.”
She shifted in the saddle to look over her shoulder. “Been on a horse since I was twelve. Having any trouble keeping up?”
“I’ve got your six, Malin.” His eyes narrowed before he smiled.
She’d seen enough movies to know what his military lingo meant. “Thanks.” Malin guided Stormy into the shade and held her weight forward as the horse climbed the incline headed into the foothills. Keeping to the well-worn path through the trees, she didn’t have to worry much about conversation topics. The surrounding beauty caught her attention, and she just enjoyed the view. With each passing moment, she felt the tension melt away.
Taking a spur trail, she guided them to a shallow snow-melt creek. Dismounting, she led Stormy to the water’s edge for a drink. She grabbed a water bottle and finished half.
Tag crouched creekside and dipped his fingers in the rushing water. “Oh, that’s cold.”
She moved until she stood just a couple feet away. “Should be. It’s from the peaks of the Rockies. But you must have similar creeks near your home.”
“Not so close.” He pulled off his hat and set it on the ground. “Our ranch is in the middle of a broad valley. But the summer grazing grounds have a creek.” He scooped a handful of water and tossed it over his head then ran his fingers through his hair.
Droplets flung onto her shirt, and she gasped as the cold water penetrated to her warm skin.
“Uh, sorry.”
“Yeah, right.” Tipping her head to let her hat fall off backward, she scurried forward to grab water and toss the handful his way.
His head jerked back, and his mouth gaped.
Neither moved for several seconds. Then they sprang into action, straddled the narrow creek, and had a good, old-fashioned water fight.
After several minutes passed, Tag straightened and signaled for a time-out. “Truce.” He jumped to the close side of the creek. “As fun as this was, I don’t have a dry shirt or even a towel.”
Malin ran her hands down her front, brushing away excess water.
“Oh, babe. Don’t do that.” Tag groaned and closed the distance until he stood a foot away. His dark gaze ran up and down her body.
Malin didn’t have to look. She knew her cotton shirt was plastered to her curves like a second skin. The same way Tag’s shirt clung to his well-defined torso. Unable to resist, she moved forward the last remaining inches and smoothed a hand over his chest. Already, the damp fabric warmed from his heat. Staying connected with his gaze, she stretched upward and licked a drop of water from his upper lip. A bit of beard stubble tickled the tip of her tongue.
He didn’t move, and he didn’t blink.
She rested her hands on his biceps and leaned close to taste his lips, pressing harder when she got no response. Had she misread the intent she thought his gaze held? Confused, she eased back. “What’s wrong?”
“Absolutely nothing. But I’m not making a mistake that will send you running.” He sucked in a breath, his gaze searching hers. “That felt too damn good to give you any reason to stop.”
The backs of her eyes burned. That he considered her feelings meant so much. “That’s sweet, but you’re in front of me. I won’t get surprised by your moves.”
“As long as I go slow, right?” A dark eyebrow slanted.
His teasing produced a grin. “Get out of my head, Tag, and kiss me.”
After widening his stance in the gravel and dirt, he slipped his arms around her waist. “You good with this?”
She nodded, lifting her face and waiting with anticipation.
He leaned down enough to brush his lips over her mouth then draw back. “And that’s okay, too?”
“I can see where this is headed and you’re taking too long.” She cupped her hands on his cheeks and pulled down his mouth until she claimed it, moving, questing, tasting, and suckling his lips until she drew out his response. Finally.
He took control and dipped his tongue inside, tangling with hers. Then he dropped light kisses along her jaw until he reached her neck and left a blazing trail to her ear and sucked her lobe into his mouth.
Malin clasped her hands around his neck, savoring the zaps of sensation skimming her skin. When he nipped her earlobe, she felt the tug deep in her belly. Her heart raced. A moan pushed its way through their fused mouths. Inside her damp bra, her nipples tightened, and she had to brush them against his rock-hard chest to intensify the sensation.
Seconds stretched into minutes. Or so they seemed to. She reveled in the strength of being held in the shelter of his arms, and she wanted the magic of their kisses to never end.
One of the horses shook its head enough to rattle the metal bit.
They both stilled then broke apart but their gazes were constant. Tag clasped her hand and held tight. His breaths rasped.
That solitary disturbance reminded her she wasn’t free to act with abandon. She still had to be aware of the unknown. True, the black truck couldn’t follow them here. But if the robbers were locals, they knew how to ride. One look at the calm, grazing horses told her no others were nearby.
Without saying a word, he guided her over the creek and onto the top of a relatively flat boulder in the direct sunlight. She stretched out and tilted her face upwards, not caring that she’d neglected to apply sunscreen. The rock’s warmth seeped through her clothes and warmed her chilled skin. As she lounged, letting nature dry her garments, she listened to the calls of birds and the chatter of chipmunks. Awareness of the sexy man who reclined at her side didn’t allow her to totally relax, but she fast approached mellow.
One of Tag’s fingertips traced circles around her knuckles and rubbed the ring she wore on her right hand. The gift from her parents for high school graduation—a moonstone surrounded by etched leaves set in a white gold band.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I guess.” Asking to ask a question didn’t seem like the topic would be fun. She mentally braced herself.
“Why do you wear your hair pinned tight? The first thing I noticed was your long wavy hair in the breeze.”
Blood pounded in her ears. She sat bolt upright. “Because my hair was used against me.” After checking to make sure the clip was still in place, she jumped to her feet and turned toward the edge. Wearing her hair up was on change she’d made, and it comforted her.
Tag’s boots scrambled on the rock, and he grabbed for her hand. “Don’t run. Talk to me.”
Suzanne warned her that the topic of the fear about her hair would surface and she’d have to face her feelings. Malin turned until she met Tag’s gaze. “If I’d had short hair like Jude’s, I might have gotten away.” She saw his brows wrinkle. “One of my sisters.”
“I don’t believe that’s the whole truth.”
She yanked her hand from his. “How can you tell me what I feel? I know how the driver grabbed a handful of hair and pulled me into that truck.”
He leaned forward. “My hair is short. Can you grab a handful?”
“Probably not.” What was he trying to prove?
“Try it. Grab some and yank.”
Was he making fun of her fear? “This is ridiculous.”
He looked up, gaze narrowed and mouth pressed into a tight line. “I’m making a point. Humor me.” Then he again looked toward the ground.
Heaving out a sigh, she reached out and slid her fingers along his scalp then closed her hand into a fist and pulled.
He sucked in a breath and stepped in her direction. “Enough.”
Immediately, she let go, cringing at the pained sound of that single word.
He straightened and rubbed his scalp. “Your grip forced me to move.”
“But I felt your hair slipping through my fingers. I couldn’t have pulled you off your feet.”
“Besides the fact I outweigh you by at least sixty pounds.” After a final rub of his head, he braced both hands on his hips.
“There’s that.” She touched the clip to double-check it held tight. “The length of my hair is a detriment to my safety, and I can’t allow it to be used as a weapon again.”
“Why not cut it short and relieve yourself of one fear?”
“Really?” Since high school, she’d always worn her hair long. Plus her mom used to cut it and since her passing, Malin only went to the salon for occasional trims. “Do you think my fear would go away?” Could reducing her anxiety be as easy as making a trip to the salon?
“My philosophy is if you see a problem, you figure out a way to solve it.” He shrugged. “This solution could be one way to get rid of that problem.”
Excitement at the possibility raced along her skin. “Let’s ride down this mountain and get to town.” She scrambled off the boulder and jumped the creek.
“Wait, Malin. I have one request.”
With her foot settled in the stirrup, she glanced over her shoulder. “What?’
“Remove the clip and let me touch your hair.” His chest rose and fell, and his gaze darkened.
Turning, she reached for the clip then shook her head as she watched him approach. His intensity was daunting. More than six feet of hard muscles bore down on her. Could she move past her fear and let herself be vulnerable? If she didn’t trust him, then she would never have suggested this horseback ride. She unclasped the clip and tilted her head until she felt the length unroll down her back. Giddiness fluttered in her chest. When he skimmed his fingers through her hair, she shivered and closed her eyes.
****
Tag didn’t know when he’d last trembled like he did now at the idea of touching Malin’s hair. He’d heard somewhere that allowing a person to touch your head involved a high level of trust. With gentle strokes, he slipped his fingers against her temples then moved farther along her scalp. The faint scent of orange blossoms accompanied his moves.
What started as a simple request to create a tactile memory for when her hair was gone turned into an act more sensual than he’d imagined. He filled his palms with the soft strands and let the tendrils flow over his fingers. Blood rushed to his groin, and he fought to ignore the sensation. Stepping close, he nuzzled his nose at the top of her head, and silky strands caught in his short whiskers. With every move, he became more entangled with Malin. Why the hell had he suggested she cut it off?
At the selfish thought, he moved his hands back to his sides and spread his stance to ease the ache behind his jeans fly. “Thanks for indulging my request.” He watched her eyelids flutter a couple times before they fully opened.
“Uh, sure.” She turned toward the gray horse, wobbling a bit.
An hour later, he stood opposite of where Malin sat in the first chair of three in the hair salon. She’d chosen not to face the mirror. He vowed he’d be her rock so she wouldn’t falter in this decision. The entire drive from the ranch she’d chattered about upcoming guest events, the weather, and apparently any other topic that crossed her mind. He understood this decision was a big one. But he couldn’t forget the huge sigh of relief she’d expelled when she proclaimed this haircut was what she wanted. His job was to see that happened.
The stylist set a picture book in Malin’s lap. “Sure you don’t want me to snip off just two or three inches?” She flipped a few pages then pointed with the comb. “Like this one?”
Malin didn’t look down but she shook her head. “Cut it a bit below my earlobes, Regina.” She set the heel of her hand against her neck. “Right here.”
He nodded and flashed her a smile for encouragement.
Regina twisted a comb in her hand. “As long as I’ve worked here, you’ve only asked for a trim. Like twice a year.”
Tag crossed his arms over his chest, a posture he knew intimidated. “Do as Malin asks.”
Regina startled and glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening. “All right.” She reached for a water spray bottle and started squirting.
When the first long strand hit the floor, he glanced at the curled shape, masking his internal wince. But with every snip afterward, he never looked away. Malin sat like she’d become a block of ice. Her expression was so stiff he couldn’t tell what she was thinking…or if she took many breaths.
Finally, Regina stepped back. “It’s done. Do you want a bit of gel or mousse? Or do you want me to swivel around the chair so you can see?”
“M-mousse.” Her gaze flicked to Regina then reconnected with his. The knuckles on her hands gripping the chair arm whitened.
That’s it, Malin. Own the change. In silent support, he dipped his chin. Now he felt nerves attacking his gut, because he wanted her reaction to be positive. He watched Regina work white foam through the short strands then finger fluff them until waves caressed Malin’s cheeks.
“Okay, Malin. The moment of truth is here.” Regina depressed the silver bar at the base of the chair to lower the height then she grasped the back and walked the chair around.
Gasping, Malin lifted her hands, bouncing her palms under the cut ends. Then she tilted her head from side to side. A smile grew on her mouth. “Regina, wipe that worried look from your face. I like it.”
For the first time in thirty minutes, Tag shifted position and dropped his hands to his sides, flexing his fingers.
Malin stood and turned, her eyes wide.
His admiring grin was her answer. He reached into his hip pocket for his wallet. “My treat.” As soon as Malin stepped toward the door, he stooped near the chair, grabbed a foot-long tendril of honey-blonde hair, and tucked it in his jean’s pocket.
The woman with the jaunty step he followed out of the salon was not the same woman who’d walked inside. He stepped to where she’d stopped on the sidewalk and scanned the area for any black trucks. “Where to next?”
She turned and linked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I want you to teach me a few self-defense moves.”
Who had he encouraged to step into the light of day?