Christine

On horseback, I followed Travis, amused when he would cast a look over his shoulder as if to assure himself I was there. I was expecting one of those glances any minute now. And there it was. With a laugh, I squeezed the camera’s shutter and captured his impatient hurry-along look before nudging Galaxy to catch up.

After only a few more yards, though, he unexpectedly pulled his horse up. When I edged Galaxy beside him, he held up a hand to warn me into silence then pointed ahead and to the right. A bay stallion stood regally on a low bluff, overlooking a sizeable herd of mares and foals grazing peacefully in the valley below.

I almost forgot to breathe. I caught a few wide shots of the whole herd and then zoomed in to capture the majestic stallion watching over them. The breeze lifted his mane and pushed his tail as he stood stiffly, nostrils flared, ears pricked forward. He was in every way the king watching over his kingdom.

The wind shifted and the stallion’s nostrils flared. Could he smell us? Tossing his head, he cried a sharp warning and his obedient mares perked up their heads then began to trot away. The thud of their hooves blended into one continuous roll of thunder as they gained speed and moved up the valley. I shot pictures until they were out of sight.

“That was incredible,” I breathed, snapping a picture of settling dust spinning in the sunlight.

“Unforgettable.”

I swiveled in Travis’s direction, saw his contented smile, the glint in his eyes. My gaze lowered to his awkward seat in the saddle. I smiled. “You weren’t even looking at the mustangs. Were you?”

His smile widens and the green of his eyes darkens. He shrugs, sweeping his eyes downward, pausing occasionally to rest on my lips, my chest, and finally on my thighs, which lay pressed againt the hard leather of the saddle.

“Why on Earth would I want to watch horses when I have the chance to look at you.”

Never in my life had I felt like I was in a perpetual state of excitement. But with Travis McGee, every look ignited a conflagration of need that burned through my body like sizzling summer lightning. I forgot the mustangs as an urgent need to be touched insinuated itself in my center.

“What are you thinking about all of a sudden?” Travis asked softly, shifting his gaze back to my eyes.

One searing look had taken me from zero to oversexed in less than sixty seconds. Awesome!

“I’m thinking that you… are a force of nature.”

* * *

Travis

Something tugged on my memory but before I could think it through, she shuddered. It wasn’t an overtly sexy move. I didn’t even think it was intentional. But it signaled her responsiveness to me on a fundamental level, and in turn I became even more aware of her.

Inhaling sharply, I took in the rock-strewn ground, the dense bushes encroaching onto the narrow trail. I blew out a frustrated breath and urged my horse forward. “Come on. It’s not much further.”

“You aren’t thrilled about the mustangs up here,” She said as she followed me along the trail.

That was quite a subject change. Deciding to go with it, I shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s as obvious now as it was the first time you saw my pictures.”

“I think they’re beautiful. I like watching them. I admire their adaptability and how they handle adversity.”

“Those are all the polite answers,” she challenged. “What’s the ‘but’ that I’m not hearing?”

“They compete with cattle for the best grazing. So ranchers consider them pests.” I pull my mount up when we reached a small crest. “And that stallion’s obviously comfortable, at home even, so they’ve been here awhile.”

She pulls up next to me and puts on an exaggerated show of looking around. “Weren’t we just discussing the lack of cattle up here? So what’s to compete with?”

“That’s just it. There should be cattle up here, and Grant should be concerned about the mustangs on our range.” I shake my head. “Something’s off.” I set Buck in motion again, leaving her to follow.

* * *

Christine

I could tell the apparent mystery of the open range was eating at Travis. Were Grant and Justin keeping something from him? That would likely disturb him more, than not being able to figure things out.

Was the Hawk MC in trouble? I’d known the ranch was having some setbacks. Every ranch in the county was experiencing difficult times, though. The McKay’s had sold off a third of their breeding herd the previous fall and had just put a prime piece of land on the market. And Max Freeman had made a few cutbacks as well.

I resolved to ask Grant if he needed some help. He might resist, but Travis would flat-out turn me down. I didn’t have to know him longer to be certain of that.

“Where are we stopping?” I asked as we passed an old rotten log blanketed in pale blue pine butterflies. And when can I explore on foot? I settled my gaze on Travis’s rear end. Not that I was complaining about the horse’s eye view or anything.

“Almost there,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Have you been up here since you got home?”

Travis shook his head. “Nope, first time back on a horse for me.”

I nearly choked. “In sixteen years?”

“Yup.”

Did he realize how quickly his accent and attitude had slipped back to his Wyoming roots? The cowboy sitting the horse in front of me was as far removed from the dangerous city slicker stranger I’d first glimpsed behind the wheel of his fast sports car as he could get.

Travis pulled up just inside a clearing, and I nudged Galaxy alongside him. The rustic log and stone cabin nestled in the shade of the tall pines was something out of another era.

“It’s like a postcard from the Old West,” I murmured. “All it needs is smoke coming from the chimney.”

Only the trills and whistles of the birds replied. I sighed. It wasn’t the first time during the ride I’d felt like I was talking to myself. But something about his stillness made me turn in his direction.

His face was marred by a scowl of deep confusion as he surveyed the clearing. He eased his horse forward, a step at a time.

“Travis, what is it?”

But he only shook his head. “Nothing. Place is empty.”

Odd, it didn't seem like nothing. But maybe he was coping with emotions. Obviously the place meant something to him. “Where are we?” I aimed my camera at the front porch of the structure.

“It’s the cabin we use as a base when we come up here to check on the herd.” He rubbed at his jaw. “Part of the original homestead. Dad had it restored before I was born.”

The dusty cabin didn’t look particularly welcoming with its boarded-up windows. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while.”

“They must not have moved the herd up here.” Still staring at the cabin, he eased himself from the saddle then rounded Galaxy and offered me a hand down.

Once on the ground, I followed his gaze as it drifted to the tall grass near the cabin. It had obviously been cut back recently. And even I could tell the trail in had seen some recent use.

The thump of his booted feet on the wooden planks of the cabin’s covered porch broke into the birdsong. Travis withdrew a key from a hook on one of the overhead beams and slid it into the lock on the door.

“Seems a little pointless to board it all up and lock it if you’re leaving a key out where anyone can find it,” I observed.

His hand on the door latch, Travis chuckled. “It’s locked against the elements and the wildlife, Bluebell. But if someone happens on it when we’re not using it —hikers, hunters, whoever... they might need to get inside. Nothing particularly valuable here except the shelter itself.”

After he entered the cabin, I waited a moment to be certain he wasn’t going to pop right back out, then made a face at the empty doorway.

“I can think of a better use for that tongue,” he told me, materializing at the side of the cabin.

My yelp echoed across the clearing. Both horses stamped their feet and tossed their heads in protest. “You just went in there! Where the heck did you come from?”

Travis set his hat back on his head with his familiar cocky grin. “Originally from my parents, after a stolen night in the middle of cattle branding.”

A picture formed in my mind of clandestine love in a sleeping bag, of secret moments and steamy covert glances between lovers. I smiled when I realized the faces I had mentally put on the couple belonged to me and Travis. Casting the object of my daydream a glance from veiled eyes, I decided that was a fantasy I’d like to try.

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

“Seriously,” I pushed while I 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, smartass, would it have been too much trouble to just say, ‘Christine, there’s a back door’?”

“Christine?” 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, I snapped one last picture before moving off, pointedly ignoring him while I shot pictures of Galaxy and Buck.

* * *

Travis

She did love to capture things with that camera. Mom really would have loved her. Vague memories of Catherine McGee dancing around the meadow, shooting pictures of dad playing with our old three-legged border collie, laid themselves over the present moment. Her Pentax had always seemed to be around her neck or in her hand like it was attached to her.

Mom’s memory faded and blended into Bluebell, as she crouched near the river and took a picture of the mountains upstream. She’d be occupied for a while. I hoped. Keeping one eye on her to be sure, I walked to the rear of the cabin again.

The trampled grass near the back door bothered me, especially since I’d found the door unlocked. Maybe hikers had come upon the place and forgotten to lock up when they left. But I doubt hikers would have scoured the place clean. The strong smell of bleach and pine cleaner in the enclosed space made my eyes water.

Nothing appeared to be damaged, though, and I wasn’t certain being too clean didn’t sound like an oxymoron. But I rubbed the back of my neck, unable to shake the unsettled feeling. After a quick scan for footprints turned up nothing, I huffed out a breath and retraced my steps. Nothing was being accomplished by staring at the ground and fretting over the oddity. I’d much rather enjoy Christine’s company and fret over my growing attraction to her.

I came around to the front of the cabin and once again found myself spellbound. She was sprawled on her belly, apparently trying to capture the perfect photo. I shifted my stance for about the millionth time since picking her up. She was definitely having a profound physical effect on me. But there was something deeper there as well, something emotional I wasn’t quite sure about yet. Something I wasn’t sure I was ready for, no matter how strongly my body reacted.

Right on cue with my lascivious thoughts, Christine 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.” With her thumb out, she arced her arm, indicating the field beyond her.

All I saw was the way her curves strained against her shirt and the way her jeans hugged her legs, as they guided my eye straight to the Promised Land. Flowers were the last thing on my mind.

With enormous effort, I pulled the names my mother had taught me from my 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.

My lips twitched, and I tore my gaze away from the sensual woman lying on the ground before I forced out the answer. “Those are called —pussytoes.”

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

Lowering myself to the porch, I settled my back against the wooden railing and tipped my hat over my eyes. I dangled one leg lazily over the edge, kicking at the tufts of tall grass next to the step as I set my thoughts free to roam.

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

Christine’s unique fragrance, an exhilarating blend of candy, fruit, and spice, tickled my nostrils, and my awareness of her was instantly heightened to an exquisite level. My body began stirring in response to her proximity, when I felt the barest brush of something tickling my cheek then moving to my lips.

Slowly, I opened one eye and peeked out from beneath the brim of my hat. Christine was on her knees in front of me, igniting my very explicit imagination, along with the corresponding part of my anatomy. With lips curled into what I could only think of as a naughty smile, she held a bluebell blossom and had obviously been tickling my face.

When I snaked a hand out and clamped onto her forearm, Christine’s squeal of surprise morphed into a peal of carefree laughter, washing over me and tugging once more at long-dormant emotions.

With my free hand, I tipped my Stetson back to get a better look. “You’re playin’ with fire, Bluebell.”

“Really,” she drawled, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “And here I thought I was playing with a cowboy.” She moved closer, and one soft breast brushed against my knee.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got about five seconds to stop before I finish what you’re starting.”

Four. Three. Two. Too late.

She removed my hat, tossing it carelessly onto the porch behind her. Her gaze scorched a devastating path upward to my mouth. Like a serpent, she leisurely slithered her body upward along the same track her eyes had just taken.

My body drank in the feel of every blessed soft curve she pressed against me. When her mouth was less than an inch from mine, she whispered, “Do I look like I want to stop?”