Cherokee Baby Part 22

When she climaxed, he could have sworn he'd seen it happen, seen it swirl through her body in a prism

of melting colors.

In the glowing aftermath she blinked and smiled, bringing him closer.

Unable to refuse the invitation, Bobby spilled into her and let himself fall, collapsing in the warm, willing

circle of his lover's arms. * * *

The following day Bobby did his d.a.m.nedest to stay away. He worked with the horses, tried to keep his mind busy, his body labored. But both kept thinking about Julianne. Cursing his weakness, he got in his truck, hoped he'd find her at home. He drove too fast, slowed down, considered turning back to the barn. But in the end, he kept heading in her direction, too d.a.m.n anxious to be near her, to ask her on a date. Not a good sign, he told himself. But hey, he was only human. And the s.e.x had been incredible. Why wouldn't he want to spend more time with her? He parked in front of the cabin and saw her sitting on the porch steps, withChesterat her side. What was that mutt doing here? The big lummox had his head in her lap, probably drooling all over her dress. Bobby got out of his truck, and Julianne acknowledged him, but the first words out of her mouth were about the dog.

"He just showed up at my doorstep," she said, scratching behindChester'sDumbo ears. "Do you think he's a stray?"

Bobby gaveChestera narrow-eyed look and the mutt snuggled closer to Julianne. "That's Michael's dog. The most spoiled beast you'd ever want to meet."

"Really? He doesn't act spoiled."

Was she kidding? "He eats table sc.r.a.ps, whines for attention and sleeps on Michael's bed. Believe me, Chestergets whatever he wants."

"Chester? Oh, that's cute." She kissed the top of the mutt's ugly head. "You're a good boy, aren't you?"

Yeah, a good boy. Bobby sat next to the dog andChestersnubbed his nose at him.

"What are you trying to pull?" he asked the dog, nudging the mixed breed with his elbow.

Chestermade a pathetic sound.

"Oh, I get it. Your redhead wasn't available today, so you're moving in on mine."

"Are you referring to me?" Julianneasked, her eyes bright and curious.

Too curious.

Uncomfortable, Bobby shrugged. Why did women have to a.n.a.lyze everything a man said? "That was guy talk."

"Guy talk?

"Chesterhas a crush on an Irish setter."

"A redhead," she commented.

"Yeah, and I told him about you and me. That we had s.e.x and made a baby."

"You told the dog ... oh, my." She turned away, restraining a giggle.

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time." He frowned at the back of her head. "Knock it off, Julianne.

It isn't funny."

"Yes, it is."

When she turned back around,Chesterwoofed and she gave in and laughed. Her dimple surfaced,then disappeared, playing an intriguing game of peekaboo.

Bobby smiled, taking a moment to enjoy the woman and the dog.

A few quiet minutes later she asked, "Do you want some iced tea?"

"Sure." He followed her inside,Chesteron their heels. She'd spruced up the house with potted plants and baskets of dried flower petals, adding touches of who she was.

Spending time at his old place wasn't as difficult as he'd a.s.sumed it would be. At least not with Julianne here, making the cabin seem like a home again. She handed him a tall gla.s.s of tea sweetened with sugar and garnished with a lemon wedge. "Thanks." He took a sip, deciding Julianne looked like a wood nymph with her garden-printed dress and bare feet.

No wonderChestercouldn't resist her.The dog sat on the tiled floor, staring up at her with big, droopy eyes. "Is it all right if I feed him?" she asked. "I don't see why not. Michael gives him all kinds of junk." She opened the fridge and came up with some leftover corned beef and cabbage.Chesterwiggled as she picked through it, separating a few slices of beef and placing them in a plastic bowl. The dog gulped up what she gave him.Chestershould probably get used to Irish meals, Bobby thought, considering he had his heart set on an Irish setter. "Do you think I could try some of that?" he asked. "Oh, of course." She spooned the rest of the leftovers onto a plate and heated it in the microwave. When it was ready, she handed it to him, along with a fork and a bottle of vinegar. He eyed the bottle warily. "What am I supposed to do with this?" "Season your meal. Haven't you ever eaten corned beef and cabbage before?" "No." But he was determined to acquire a taste for it, the way he'd acquired a taste for pet.i.te redheads. She watched him take a bite and he tried not to feel self-conscious. He'd awakened this morning wishing she were beside him and cursing the reason she wasn't. "Well?" she asked. "It's good." The vinegar gave the cabbage and potatoes a tangy flavor. "Different. I like it." "It's easy to make." "Then you can teach me sometime." "Okay." When their conversation faltered, he continued eating, wondering why he was nervous today. He shouldn't be, not after last night. Of course, there was the matter of that date.

"There's a barn dance coming up," he ventured to say.

"Really?"

"It'll be similar to the one we had when your cousins were here. We have them fairly often."

"When is it?"

"Tuesday. The chef is planning an Italian menu. He used to do a country barbecue every time, but these

days he likes the idea of creating an international theme. He hasn't done an Irish one yet, though. He's probably waiting for Saint Patrick's Day." Bobby rinsed his plate and placed it in the dishwasher, trying to keep his cool. Suddenly he felt like a tall, gawky kid preparing to ask the prettiest girl in school to the prom. "Do you want to go with me?"

She smiled, brushed her feathery bangs out of her eyes. "That sounds nice. Fun." Because Bobby couldn't think of anything else to say, he made a show of checking his watch, wishing he could cart her off to the bedroom instead. "Well, I guess I better go. I've still got a few more lessons this afternoon." He paused, glanced at the mutt. "I can takeChesterback to Michael's." "That's okay. He can stay." Chesterpanted and Bobby rolled his eyes. Julianne laughed. "You two are funny together." "You think him trying to steal my girl is funny?" Bobby swept her into his arms and gave her the kiss he'd been craving all day, a s.e.xy a.s.sault of mouth, tongue and teeth. She staggered afterward. "Are you sure you have to go?" His pulse shot up his arm. "Maybe I can stay." "Maybe?" she challenged. "Definitely." He didn't care if he was late for his next appointment, if he dropped everything to be with her, to have her. "I can stay." He grabbed her, kissed her again. "But we'll have to make this fast." And hot and hard, he thought. The excitement they both craved. He looked around the kitchen and backed her into the herb closet, the room he'd designed for drying medicinal plants. The counters were scattered with wildflowers she'd collected and the heady scent rose to his nostrils.

It was perfect. It spoke of her. Of the woman who cherished the sun, the moon, the vibrant blooms that dotted the hills. Julianne, with her garden-printed dress and wind-tousled hair. He lifted her onto the floral-laden counter and she tipped her head back. So warm, so willing, so fragrant.

With as much finesse as he could muster, he opened the front of her dress and fought a vicious war to not rip the d.a.m.n thing off, to send b.u.t.tons popping.

She leaned forward to kiss him and he battled the hooks on her bra.

As he sucked in a barely controlled breath, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s filled his hands and her dress bunched around her hips, leaving her panties to his disposal.

He yanked them off and she went after him. She snagged his belt, flipped open the buckle and deliberately brushed his fly.

She looked wildly erotic half dressed, tugging at his shirt and unzipping his jeans.

What was left of their clothes didn't matter. They would make love around them. Fast, furious the way they both wanted it.

She stroked him, making him more aroused than he could endure. Feral, anxious, he thrust into her,

plunging deep.

With a gasp, she wrapped her legs around him, locking him in, taking him deeper. His lady, his lover, the wood nymph with her beguiling dimples and bare feet.

Warm and wet, she moved with him. The tempo set his mind spinning, his vision blurring.

She arched against him, wanting more.

So he gave, all that he was capable of. Every brand stemmed from his blood, every hot, demanding thrill

from the edge of his sanity.

She dug her nails into his shoulder, and he thrust harder. He took her, with greed, with pa.s.sion, with masculine fury. And when she climaxed, when she cried out his name, he dragged her tight against him and emptied his body desperately into hers. * * * On Tuesday evening, Julianne got ready early, preparing for the night ahead. She hadn't seen much of Bobby since he'd asked her to the dance, but they'd both been busy. Ranch activities took up most of his time and preparations for the boutique had been keeping her occupied. She'd ordered some samples, including a hand-embroidered shirt from an up-and-coming designer. A shirt she'd purchased in Bobby's size. Or so she hoped. She wasn't certain about his measurements. She went to the bedroom and took the shirt out of the box. It had arrived this morning and she intended to give it to him tonight, hoping he would wear it to the dance. She rewrapped the garment, insisting she owed Bobby a visit. How many times had he stopped by her cabin, bearing gifts?

He'd never brought her clothes, but he supplied her with plenty of chocolate.

With her confidence bolstered, she tucked the package under her arm and got in her car. Taking the b.u.mpy road to his house, she listened to the radio. Within the hour she would be dancing in Bobby's arms. And within a few minutes she would be standing on his porch. The man she loved. When she rapped on his door, her heart pounded with every knock. Foolish girl, she thought suddenly.

She should have stayed home and waited for him to pick her up. But no, she'd found an excuse to foist herself on him. He opened the door just then and she knew oh, G.o.d, she knew she had truly made a mistake. He didn't speak. Not a word. He flinched, frowned, flinched again. Balancing himself on crutches, he wore nothing but a pair of sweats. One leg filled the fabric, but the other dangled loosely at the bottom, where the hem had been cut.

"I thought you were Michael," he said finally. "No one comes to my house unannounced except my nephew." "I'm sorry." Was that a privacy rule? Something everyone at the ranch automatically followed? She ran her tongue across her teeth, felt her mouth go dry. Bobby's hair was loose, damp from a recent shower and trailing water down his bare shoulders. "I was supposed to pick you up, Julianne." "I know." She tried to summon a smile. His amputated leg wasn't visible, but the knowledge of it ghosted between them, making her wonder about the car accident, the surgery, the pain and depression he'd suffered. "I only stopped by to bring you something." She handed over the box. "It's a shirt. I thought maybe you'd want to wear it tonight. If it fits, of course. It's from a new designer. I'm considering carrying her line in the boutique."

He took the package, but he held fast to his frown, to the discomfort in his eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She wished she could make this easier. But knowing she couldn't, she stepped back.

How could she tell him that answering the door without his prosthesis didn't diminish his appeal? That he was a man a strong, virile man no matter what? "I'll pick you up around eight," he said, letting her know, quite politely, that he had no intention of inviting her into his home. Not now. Not while he was crutching around the place. "Maybe I'll go to the dance a little early. Bymyself for a while," she added, too shaken to return to her house to wait for him. "Is that okay with you?"

"That's fine. I'll meet you there."

She said goodbye and Bobby thanked her again for the gift he'd yet to open.

An hour later Julianne sat with some guests from the ranch, feeding her nerves with Sicilian entrees from

the buffet: sweet and sour eggplant, meatb.a.l.l.s, a zucchini salad.

The international/country theme worked. The Italian food complemented theTexasbarn, especially when the band played a movie score, a catchy song from one of those delightful old Spaghetti Westerns.

Just as Julianne set about to taste the watermelon pudding, Bobby arrived. He'd paired the shirt she'd

given him with black jeans, a trophy-buckle belt and snakeskin boots.

He acknowledged his guests and took the chair she'd saved for him.

"I like the shirt," he said quickly. "It reminds me of rodeo garb from the fifties. I've always been into that

vintage style."

Pleased that he approved, she brushed his hand, a little apprehensive to touch him. "Then I'll make sure to order them for the boutique."

He smiled and she knew he was pretending the awkward encounter at his door had never happened. Her cue, she realized, to never bring it up. To stay away from his house. Unless, of course, she'd been invited.

Suddenly she wanted to cry. For him, for her, for the wall he was building, the barrier that kept them from getting too close.

"Do you like the pudding?" he asked.

She gazed at the parfait gla.s.s in front of her. "I haven't tried it yet."

He scooted his chair closer to the table. "It's one of my favorite desserts."

"I thought you steered clear of sweets."

"I do. Usually. But I might indulge tonight.Gelodimelone . Even the name makes me hungry."

Without thinking, she dipped into the pudding and offered him a spoonful. He took it without hesitation and she wondered if his wife had fed him cake on their wedding day.

Once again she wanted to cry, to mourn the marriage she feared she would never have with Bobby.

He licked whipped cream from his lips. "Try some yourself."