“It was very thoughtful of you to bring them. I can’t imagine what shape I’d be in without them.”
He sat back on his heels, his muscular arms draped loosely over his bent knees. “Once I’ve tended to the horses I’ll bring you some water and a protein bar. Maybe that’ll perk you up.”
Loni doubted anything short of a long soak in a hot Jacuzzi would perk her up, but she didn’t want to worry him by saying so. The moment he left she sighed and let her eyes fall closed, wishing with all her heart that they could camp there for the night. Not possible. They’d been riding for only about four hours. In order to catch up with Trevor they needed to keep going until dark. The thought made her groan.
Once Clint had watered the horses, he left them to graze while he went to check on Loni. She lay under the tree like a discarded rag doll, her head lolling to one side, the green bill of the John Deere cap shading her closed eyes. Depositing the canteen and protein bar on the grass, Clint hunkered beside her. Fast asleep. A sad smile touched his lips. Though she hadn’t complained a single time, he knew the morning’s ride had been hard on her. By tonight she’d be in a world of hurt.
Before waking her he allowed himself a moment to admire the delicate lines of her heart-shaped face—the arch of finely drawn brows, the feather of long, dark lashes against her cheeks, the fullness of her rose pink mouth. He especially liked her small, straight nose. She was a beauty, no question about it.
With the back of his hand, he nudged her shoulder. She jerked awake, her lashes fluttering as a yawn stretched her mouth wide. “I’m sorry.” She moaned softly as she struggled to sit up. “I didn’t mean to drift off.”
“Take these.” He caught her hand, cupped her palm, and dropped in two ibuprofen. “They’ll take the edge off.”
She popped the pills into her mouth, chasing them with water from the canteen. “Thank you.” She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “The water is wonderful.”
“Help yourself. I have a filter. We won’t run short.”
She tipped the canteen to her mouth again, her larynx bobbing in her slender throat as she gulped. When she’d drunk her fill, Clint found himself staring at her lips. The shine of moisture made them look far too kissable for his peace of mind. They’d only just begun their sojourn into the wilderness, and already he was thinking about things he shouldn’t. Not good. They had a mission to accomplish, and he needed to keep his mind strictly on business.
He sat beside her to rest while she nibbled on the protein bar. She took small bites, flicking the pink tip of her tongue over her bottom lip to catch the crumbles of chocolate. He couldn’t recall ever having seen anything so sensual, and wondered if she was doing it on purpose to drive him crazy. The suspicion no sooner crossed his mind than she stuck half the bar into her mouth and slowly withdrew it, skimming her teeth the length of it. Watching her made his stomach clench.
He’d been too long without a woman, he decided. Normally he kept busy at the ranch and put in long, hard days. At night he was usually too spent to think much about sex. But he wasn’t tired now—at least, not tired enough to be around a beautiful woman without wanting her. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, determined to ignore the ache that was forming low in his belly.
“Headache? You should try some of the ibuprofen.”
It would take a hell of a lot more than a couple of pills to cure what ailed him. Clint sprang to his feet. “Time’s wasting. You about ready to mount back up?”
She finished the bar in two big bites, brushed her fingers clean on her jeans, and tucked the wrapper in her pocket. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
For the remainder of the day, except for brief rest stops, Clint pushed the horses and pack animals ever deeper into the wilderness. In some places the man-zanita grew so thick on the hillsides it looked almost impenetrable. In the ravines snow lay in blue-white patches at the bases of the trees, giving testimony to the fact that winter temperatures still held the mountains in their frigid grip at night. Even so, spring grass shot up in yellow-green bunches, and hardy wildflowers lent splashes of pink, blue, and yellow to an otherwise green-and-brown landscape.
As they rode, Clint pointed out Western tanagers, chipping sparrows, yellow warblers, red-breasted sapsuckers, robins, a pair of harlequin ducks with a half dozen ducklings, and, at one point, even a gorgeous bald eagle soaring above them.
In all Loni’s life she’d never seen such an abundance of wildlife. Lodgepole chipmunks and golden-mantled squirrels scrambled over the rocks, chattering angrily at the invasion of horses and mankind into their territory. Mule deer, startled away from the river by their approach, bounded into thickets and disappeared. A mother raccoon, leading a queue of waddling babies, cut across the trail in front of them. Late in the afternoon Loni even glimpsed a mountain lion in the distance. The sighting left her feeling chilled and more than a little uneasy about the coming night.
Clint seemed constantly on guard, sometimes stopping to search a hillside, other times cocking his head to listen. The rifle from his truck now rode in a leather boot just behind his saddle, and as the sun began to set Loni saw him unfasten the strap of the gun holster at his hip. With mounting dread she realized there were dangers all around them that she couldn’t fathom. As exhausted as she was, she had no idea how she would sleep with only the thin nylon walls of the tent as a barrier against nocturnal predators.
Just before dark, when the sun finally dipped below the mountains behind them, Clint brought his horse to a halt, pushed up in the stirrups, and hollered back, “This spot looks about as good as any to make camp for the night. What do you think?”
Loni craned her neck to see around him. Just ahead, a bend in the river provided a shallow pool. Off to the left, a small, flat area was carpeted with grass and encircled by trees. “You’re the expert.”
This time Loni knew as she dismounted to keep a death grip on the saddle horn until she was sure her legs would support her. Even then, her knees wobbled with every step. Biting her lip at the pain, she led Uriah to the clearing. After watching Clint for a moment, she spoke softly to the gelding as she removed the saddlebags and then loosened the girth strap around his belly. She staggered and almost fell when she pulled the saddle from his back.
“Whoa! I’ll get that.” Clint hurried over to relieve her of the burden. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“I’m sure your sister lifts saddles off of horses all the time.”
“True, but she’s been doing it for years. There’s a trick to it. We call it the swing-and-drop maneuver.” He flashed her a crooked grin. “Try muscling that much weight at head height and you’ll hurt your back.”
Loni already ached in every joint of her body. The last thing she wanted was a strained back, too. So instead of wrestling with saddles, she only helped loosen them and then allowed Clint to do the lifting.
When all the horses were relieved of their burdens, they rubbed them down and took them to the river to drink. Oddly, Loni enjoyed that part most. Uriah truly was a sweetie. He reminded her a little of Hannah, snuffling her clothing and giving her affectionate nudges. Bathsheba was precious, too, if you overlooked the fact that she was a tiny bit spoiled. In a way Loni could sympathize. This trip was rather hard on a pampered lady. Maybe, she decided, that was why she enjoyed petting the horses. She could stand in one place and not wiggle her butt muscles very much.
They’d hobbled the equines in the clearing and she was feeding them handfuls of grass, enjoying the tickle of their lips on her palm, when Clint hollered for her help. He was trying to string what he called a high line between two trees, and he needed her to hold the rope.
She was so exhausted she wanted to weep by the time they got all the animals fed and settled in for the night. But the work was still far from finished. Rocks had to be found to encircle a fire pit Clint quickly created with a short-handled spade. Wood had to be collected. The tent had to be put up. By the time Clint got a fi
re going she was ready to drop in her tracks. Her inner thighs burned like fire. Her butt felt as if it were black and blue. Her legs threatened to buckle every time she took a step.
“Here, have a seat,” Clint said.
Loni glanced behind her at the folded sleeping bag he’d laid on the ground. It looked wonderfully soft and tempting. But she hurt too much all over to bend her knees and sit. As if sensing her dilemma, Clint took her hands.
“Lean your weight against me. I’ll lower you down.”
Loni felt ridiculous, but she honestly couldn’t get down there by herself. He deposited her, rump-first, on the cushiony folds, making her landing as gentle as possible.
Loni was about to thank him when he said, “Drop your pants.”
Certain her ears were deceiving her, she said, “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. Drop your pants.”
Chapter Six
Loni couldn’t think what to say. He wanted her to drop her jeans? Hands at his hips, booted feet set wide apart, he stood before her, as unbending as a tree, his dark eyes holding hers in a relentless grip.
“You’re saddle sore,” he said.
As if she needed him to tell her that? She had a very bad feeling her abused posterior had somehow been added to his evening chore list, right up there with lifting the horse’s hooves to check their frogs for stones.
“Has anyone ever mentioned that you need to work on your lead-ins?”
He gave her a bewildered look. “My what?”
“Your lead-ins. You shouldn’t just walk up to a woman and tell her to drop her pants.”
“I shouldn’t?”
Loni glimpsed a twinkle of amusement in his coffee brown eyes. “No, you shouldn’t. It would be far nicer if you eased your way into it, saying something like, ‘You seem to be in a lot of discomfort. Maybe I’d better have a look.’”
He nodded. “All right. You seem to be in a lot of discomfort. Maybe I’d better have a look.” He nudged his hat back to smile at her. “Is that better?”
“Not really.”
He chuckled. “No matter how I say it, you’re not going to like it.”
“You’re right. I’m not in the habit of dropping my pants in front of men.”
“I never thought otherwise, which is precisely why I thought the direct, no-bullshit approach was my best option. To put it simply, you’re in serious trouble. If I don’t rub you down with Hooter’s special salve, you may not be able to walk tomorrow, let alone ride.”
“Surely it won’t be that bad.”
“I’ve seen people so stiff and sore, they couldn’t get out of bed the next morning.”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you?” He held up a staying hand. “Forget I asked that.”
Loni had to struggle not to laugh, and if that wasn’t crazy, she didn’t know what was. “What kind of special salve is it?”
“Basically, a miracle cure for the pain you’re in right now.”
“If you’ll bring it to me, I’ll apply it myself.”
As he strode over to a pack that lay nearby, he said, “This is no time for modesty, Ms. MacEwen. I know my way around saddle sores, and you don’t.”
“The saddle sores happen to be on my posterior, Mr. Harrigan.”
“I have no designs on your posterior. I’m more worried about your legs.”
Loni had to admit that her legs were horribly sore. Muttering under her breath, she attempted to remove her borrowed footwear, no easy task when it hurt to bend her knees. Tossing the tube of salve onto the sleeping bag, he crouched in front of her and grabbed a boot by its heel.
“Let me, sweetheart. At the best of times riding boots are a bitch to get off. I’ve got a bootjack in almost every room of the house.”
“What on earth is a bootjack?”
“A V-shaped gadget that sits on the floor. You stand on one end, stick the heel of your other boot in the V, and after a little cussing and tugging, the boot comes off.”
“Maybe you should wear lace-ups.”
He looked appalled. “Lace-ups? When you’re wading through horse puckey all day, you have to take your boots off every time you go to the house. Laces are too much trouble.”
With an expertise born of long practice, he tugged the first boot off and tossed it aside. The second one soon followed. Then he reached to unfasten the waistband of her jeans. Loni grasped his wide wrists and gave him a startled look.
“You seem to be in a lot of discomfort,” he said with a teasing grin. “Maybe I’d better have a look.”
She laughed in spite of herself, and the next thing she knew, the denim was being peeled down her thighs. To his credit he kept his gaze on her legs, and his manner was so businesslike that it helped to calm her jangled nerves.
When he saw the purple marks on her inner thighs, he swore under his breath, twisted the cap off the tube, and squirted some clear ointment onto his palm.
“This is going to set you on fire,” he warned. “But as soon as the burning stops you’ll feel better.”
Loni jumped when his hard hand slipped between her legs. “I really don’t think—”
That was all she had time to say. The next instant she was hissing air through her teeth, trying her best not to cry out.
“I know it hurts.” His voice had gone deep and gravelly. “But it has to be done.”
Loni locked her jaws. But just as he’d promised, the sting soon began to abate. Kneeling between her parted thighs, he massaged her flesh, his hard fingers kneading deep to reach the tortured muscles.
“Try not to feel embarrassed,” he told her. “I’ve seen women at the supermarket wearing less than you are right now.”
Practically speaking, he was right. During the summer Loni sometimes made grocery runs wearing shorts and a blouse, and she never felt indecently exposed. But somehow this was different. It was also next to impossible for her to relax with a man’s hands touching her in such intimate places.
Only, oh, it did feel good. He knew precisely where the soreness was, and the gentle but firm strokes of his fingers soon chased the stiffness from her muscles. To distance herself from the humiliation, she tipped her face up to the darkening sky, wishing the butterfly puzzle at her gynecologist’s office were pinned up there for her to study. Finding individual butterflies in the swirls of color always distracted her until the most mortifying part of an exam was over.
When he’d finished with her thighs he said, “Roll over on your stomach.”
Her gynecologist could give him some lessons in bedside manner, Loni thought. But in a weird way, his no-nonsense, “let’s get this over with” tone eased her self-consciousness. To her surprise she was actually able to move without whimpering.
He spent the next few minutes working on the backs of her legs. Then he handed her the salve. “I’ll let you handle the rest.”
Loni decided he was referring to the places under her panties. She was grateful when he turned his back to put more wood on the fire, allowing her some privacy. After applying the medication she tried to mimic his massage techniques, pushing in deep with her fingers to reach all the throbbing spots. Sadly, her attempts fell far short of his, but she did the best she could, then shimmied into her jeans and tugged the boots back on.
“I’m decent.”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Feel better?”
Loni was surprised to realize that she did. “Much better. What is this stuff, anyway?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do. It’s fabulous.”
“It’s horse salve.”
“What?”
He chuckled. “You see? Now you’re appalled. It won’t hurt you, I promise, and come morning you’ll be able to ride again.”
“Horse salve.” Loni squinted to read the label in the waning light. “Oh, my gosh, it is horse salve.”
“A jockey back East came up with the concoction to treat racehorses with pulled tendons or sprains. Then he
patented the recipe and began marketing it. That’s probably why it burns so bad when you first apply it, because he created it to radiate heat through a horse’s coat, and we apply it to bare skin. My ranch foreman, Hooter, discovered that it works even better on humans than it does on equines, and we’ve been using it on the trail ever since. Even veteran riders who don’t get on a horse all winter can get saddle sore during the first spring ride.”
Loni could still feel the heat radiating deep into her tortured flesh. It wasn’t quite as wonderful as sitting in a hot Jacuzzi, but it came close. “I’m glad you thought to bring it.”
He grinned and winked at her. “I brought it along especially for you.”
“Which must mean you weren’t worried about getting sore yourself. Do you ride frequently, then, even in the winter?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s why I built that huge arena, so my horses and I can stay in shape even when the snow’s ass-deep to a tall Texan.”
Loni had never sat by a campfire after dark. On the one hand the blackness of the woods around them was unnerving. The light of the flames seemed to compound her night blindness. But when she wasn’t thinking about long-toothed predators sneaking up behind her, she found herself mesmerized by the dancing tongues of fire and the orange embers that occasionally snapped and shot up sparks. She also enjoyed the wonderful smell of the wood smoke. It was far better than any campfire scene she’d ever watched in a movie. You missed the true ambience when you were sitting on a sofa, munching popcorn.
Popcorn. Mmm. That sounded so good.
She wasn’t expecting much by way of an evening meal, but Clint surprised her with delicious-smelling beef stew heated right in the cans. He used a folded piece of leather to protect his hand as he turned the containers and occasionally stirred the contents with a camp spoon.
Watching, Loni found it easy to imagine him in an Old West setting. Whether he liked the term or not, he was the very epitome of a cowboy, from the crown of his brown Stetson to the toes of his dusty riding boots. His blue chambray shirt, soft with wear, skimmed his torso, showcasing his lean, muscular upper body. He seemed as comfortable in a crouch as most people were sitting on a stool, giving the impression that he could hold the position for hours without his leg muscles tiring. With the pines silhouetted in feathery black against a navy blue sky behind him, and the campfire limning him in amber, he looked like a man from another era.