“I was concentrating on that cowboy.” She tipped her head toward the window. The cowboy was hopping into an old yellow truck. She realized her statement was empty; there was nothing interesting about a person climbing into a beat-up vehicle.
Cash raised his eyebrows, challenging her. “You were concentrating on what?”
“On who. The cowboy. When I was a child, I wanted to be one.” At least that was true. Not interesting, but truthful.
“Am I making you nervous?” he said.
“Of course not. Why would you ask such a ridiculous question?” Nervous was a mild description, she thought, for the reaction she was having to him.
“Okay. So you wanted to be a cowboy. Don’t you mean cowgirl?”
“No, I didn’t want to be a cowgirl. They wore those silly fringed leather skirts. I wanted the real thing, a Stetson, and chaps over my jeans.” If she kept the conversation light, she thought, the swarm of swallows beating their wings against her stomach might fly away.
She was so aware of him, it was as if they were in a completely empty restaurant. She gazed at his face. His eyes seemed to burn into hers, and her mouth went dry. Her equilibrium tilted. She reached for her coffee and fumbled with the cup. Coffee sloshed over the rim and stained the tablecloth. Mortified, she tried to mop up the mess with her napkin. The waiter rushed over and tried to pull the napkin from her hand. A tug-of-war ensued. She was not willing to give up the napkin; she had made the mess and she felt responsible for cleaning it up. The waiter’s stage-whispered assurance that she was not to concern herself with “the little accident” frazzled her nerves even more, but she finally gave in.
Cash had covered his mouth with his hand, but the crinkles around his eyes told the story: he was amused. She did not appreciate being the leading lady in a comedy. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep quiet. Any comment would make the situation more embarrassing. She had to admit that her reaction was a bit overblown, and what had started as a romantic interlude had deteriorated into a farce.
“Christie, mellow out.”
His voice was soft and she detected concern. She laughed, tentatively at first, then heartily. Cash joined in, and her tension eased.
“I thought that waiter was going to haul off and bop you if you didn’t relinquish the napkin. He was one determined guy.”
“We both were. Determined.”
Laugh lines erupted around Cash’s eyes again as he smiled at Christie. Relaxed now, she smiled back. She was thankful that the rest of dinner returned to a comfortable level. She did not want to wrestle with similar dynamics again.
When they left the restaurant, the night sky was dark, but the desert heat had barely dissipated. As they walked through the parking lot, their shoulders bumped, and her steps faltered. Cash gripped her elbow to keep her from stumbling. She glanced up at him in gratitude. And was lost. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m all right.” But was she? His hand was on the back of her neck, his fingers reaching into her hair. Her skin prickled in response and she watched, mesmerized, as his face came closer to hers. Without her thinking about it, her lips parted slightly, and she waited for his kiss.
“Christie,” he murmured before his mouth came down on hers.
The night became ablaze with stars, and a flash of comets that had not lighted the sky before his kiss woke her spirit. She couldn’t breathe, her heart was pounding so hard the rest of her organs seemed to constrict. She had fought the infatuation, done everything to resist. But she had fallen into an abyss, and there was no escape.
Sanity returned and she gently pushed against his chest, severing their embrace. She read his expression. It was obvious that he was surprised by her retreat. She wanted him to hold her again, but that was folly. Things were happening too fast, and she had to slow the pace.
On the way back to the hacienda, Cash handled the wheel of the SUV like a stock-car driver in a demolition derby. Aware of the insistent nervous energy pushing him, Christie choked back a protest.
The towering rimrock, deeply painted by shadows, reached skyward, announcing the approach to Sedona. A short time later, they reached his home. The hacienda was silhouetted against a sparsely illuminated landscape. Cash pushed open the wrought-iron gate and they entered the courtyard. Stripped of lights, the angular house appeared unwelcoming.
He unlocked the door and poked the light switch. The instant-on electricity transformed the interior into a warm, bright, and familiar home once more.
“Coffee?” he asked.
She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he pulled out a canister, measured coffee into the drip basket, and shoved the plug into a wall outlet.
He was still racing, she thought, even though they had reached their destination. They had barely spoken on the way home, each caught up in their own thoughts.
When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup and pushed it toward her.
“Aren’t you having any?” she asked.
“I’m going to swim laps.”
He didn’t invite her to join him in the pool, and she did not question his need to be alone.
“I’ll say good night now. See you in the morning, Christie.”
Her glance questioned him, but he averted his eyes and almost imperceptibly shook his head, as if he did not understand why he had dismissed her so abruptly. She wondered if he was getting back at her for thwarting a second kiss outside the restaurant, but that would have been petty. She did not suspect him of that trait.
He turned and walked away. The sharp cracking sound of his footsteps on the polished tiles echoed through the house. Christie thought about her impression of the hacienda when they arrived: without lights it had appeared unfriendly. Now the room was ablaze, yet she no longer felt welcome.
She picked up the book she had been reading earlier. Perhaps a few chapters would take her mind off the evening’s events and ready her for sleep. In bed she punched the pillows and propped them up behind her back. She was comfortable, but she couldn’t keep her mind on the book, reading the same page over and over and not comprehending a word.
She wished she had Tosha to cuddle. Her beloved cat would soothe her. But she was alone and had to deal with her churning feelings. Putting the book aside, she crept out of bed and stepped to the French doors. She parted the drape with her fingertips and peered outside. Even from this distance, she could see Cash’s arms windmilling through the water, muscles rippling. Her heart lurched at his strength. She had never been attracted to a man so quickly. In truth she had hardly been attracted to anyone in a long time. She had built a protective wall around herself—protection for her heart as well as for her career. But now the armor was cracking, and while it was exciting, it was also frightening.
She tiptoed back to bed, tossed the book onto the night table, and scrunched under the lightweight quilt. Sleep would be elusive, but she was determined to try. If ever there was a time to count sheep, it was now. Anything to take her mind off Cash.
In the morning, after getting dressed in shorts and a pullover, she met Cash in the kitchen. He was at the stove, stirring scrambled eggs in a cast-iron pan.
“Good morning. I hope the sound of my swimming didn’t bother you last night,” he said.
“Not at all. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow,” she lied.
“I peeked in on you later, hoping you’d be awake.”
“You did?” Christie silently chided herself. She sounded ridiculous, like an eager teenager who had missed acquiring a rock star’s autograph.
“No.” A smile was evident in the crinkles around Cash’s eyes. “I didn’t want to disturb you. But I stood outside your door for a few minutes, hoping to hear some sign that you were awake.”