Chapter 7
Seven
“You have to be kidding!” Slade gave her a look of pure disbelief.
“No,” Shelly insisted, swallowing a laugh. “It’s the only possible way I know to get there. We can go up through the woods,
where the snow isn’t as deep.”
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Slade stalked to the far side of the room, made an abrupt about-face and returned to his former
position. “I don’t know. You seem to view life as one big adventure after another. I’m not used to . . .”
“Pokey’s as gentle as a lamb,” she murmured coaxingly.
“Pokey?”
“Unless you’d rather ride Midnight.”
“Good grief, no. Pokey sounds more my speed.”
Doing her best to hold back a devilish grin, she led the way into the kitchen.
“What are you doing now?”
“Making us a thermos of hot chocolate.”
“Why?”
“I thought we’d stop and have a picnic along the way.”
“You’re doing it again,” he murmured, but she noticed that an indulgent smile lurked just behind his intense dark eyes. He
was a man who needed a little fun in his life, and she was determined to provide it. If she was only allowed to touch his
life briefly, then she wanted to bring laughter and sunshine with her. Margaret would have him forever. But these few hours
were hers, and she was determined to make the most of them.
“It’ll be fun,” she declared enthusiastically.
“No doubt Custer said the same thing to his men,” he grumbled as they put their coats and boots back on, and he followed her
out to the barn.
“Cynic,” she teased, holding the barn door for him.
Reluctantly he preceded her inside.
“How do you feel about a lazy stroll in the snow, Pokey?” she asked as she reached the Appaloosa’s stall and petted the horse’s
nose. “I know Sampson’s ready anytime.”
“Don’t let her kid you, Pokey,” Slade added from behind her. “Good grief, now you’ve got me doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking to the animals.”
“Animals often share human characteristics,” she said. “It’s only natural for people to express their feelings to the animals
that share their lives.”
“In which case we’re in trouble. Pokey is going to have a lot to say about how I feel when I climb on her back.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Sure, but will Pokey?”
“You both will. Now stop worrying.”
When Shelly brought out the tack, Slade just stared at her, hands buried deep in his pockets, but then he stepped up and did what he could to help her saddle the two horses. Mostly he circled her awkwardly, looking doubtful.
When she’d finished, she led the horses out of the barn. Holding on to both sets of reins, she motioned for him to mount first.
“Do you need any help?” she asked. He looked so different from the staid executive she’d met in Portland that she had trouble
remembering that he really was the same person. The man facing her now was clearly out of his element, nothing like the unflappable
man on the airplane.
“I don’t think so,” he said, reaching for the saddle and trying to follow Shelly’s directions. Without much difficulty he
swung himself onto Pokey’s back. The horse barely stirred.
Looking pleased with himself, he smiled down at Shelly. “I suppose you told her to be gentle with me.”
“I did,” she teased in return. Double-checking the cinch, she asked, “Do you need me to adjust the stirrups or anything?”
“No.” He shifted his weight slightly and accepted the reins she handed him. “I’m ready anytime you are.”
She mounted with an ease that spoke of years in the saddle. “It’s going to be a cold ride until we get under the cover of
the trees. Follow me.”
“Anywhere.”
She was sure she must have misheard him. “What did you say?” she asked, twisting around in the saddle.
“Nothing.” But he was grinning, and she found him so devastatingly appealing that it demanded all her willpower to turn around
and lead the way.
They quickly reached the path that took them through the woods. Gusts of swift wind blew the snow from the trees. The swirling flakes were nearly as bad as the storm had been. Even Pokey protested at having to be outside.
“Shelly,” Slade said, edging the Appaloosa to Sampson’s side. “This may not have been the most brilliant idea. Maybe we should
head back.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t want you catching cold on my account.”
“I’m as snug as a bug in a rug,” she said, using one of her father’s favorite expressions.
“Liar,” he purred softly.
“I want you to have something to remember me by.” She realized she must sound like some lovesick romantic. He would be gone
soon, and she had to accept that she probably would never see him again.
“Like what? Frostbite?”
She laughed. The musical sound was carried by the wind and seemed to echo in the trees around them. “How can you complain?
This is wonderful. Riding along like this makes me want to sing.”
He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
“What are you complaining about now?”
“Who says I’m complaining?”
She grinned, her head bobbing slightly with the gentle sway of Sampson’s gait. “I’m beginning to know you.”
“All right, if you insist on knowing, I happen to be humming. My enthusiasm for this venture doesn’t compel me to burst into
song. But I’m doing the best I can.”
Holding an unexpectedly contented feeling to her heart, she tried not to think about what would happen when they reached the Wilkens place.
She was prepared to smile at him and bid him farewell, freely sending him out of her life.
But that would have been easier before he’d held her in his arms and she’d experienced the gentle persuasion of his kiss. So very much easier.
Together, their horses side by side, they ambled along, not speaking but singing Christmas songs one after the other until
they were breathless and giddy. Their voices blended magically in two-part harmony. More than once they shared a lingering
gaze. But Shelly felt her high spirits evaporating as they neared the landmark that marked the half-way point of their journey.
“My backside is ready for a break,” Slade announced unexpectedly.
“You aren’t nearly as anxious to scoff at my picnic idea now, are you?” she returned.
“Not when I’m discovering on what part of their anatomy cowboys get calluses.” A grin curved his sensuous mouth.
They paused in a small clearing, looping the horses’ reins around the trunk of a nearby fir tree.
While she took the hot chocolate and some homemade cookies from her saddlebags, he exercised his stiff legs, walking around
as though he were on stilts.
“We’ll have to share the cup,” she announced, holding out the plastic top of the thermos. She stood between the two horses,
munching on a large oatmeal cookie.
Slade lifted the cup to his lips and hesitated as their eyes met. He paused, slowly lowering the cup without breaking eye
contact.
Her breath came in shallow gasps. “Is something wrong?” she asked with difficulty.
“You’re lovely.”
“Sure.” She forced a laugh. “My nose looks like a maraschino cherry and—”
“Don’t joke, Shelly. I mean it.” His voice was gruff, almost harsh.
“Then thank you.”
He removed his glove and placed his warm hand on her cold face, cupping her cheek. The moment was almost unbearably tender,
and she swallowed the surging emotion that clogged her throat. It would be the easiest thing in the world to walk into his
arms, lose herself in his kiss and love him the way he deserved to be loved.
As if reading her thoughts, Sampson shifted, bumping her back and delivering her into Slade’s arms. He dropped the hot chocolate
and hauled her against him like a man in desperate need.
“I told myself this wouldn’t happen again,” he whispered against her hair. “Every time I hold you, it becomes harder to let
you go.”
Her heart gave a small leap of pleasure at his words. She didn’t want him to let her go. Not ever. Everything felt right between
them. Too right and too good.
How long he held her, Shelly didn’t know. Far longer than was necessary and not nearly long enough. Each second seemed to
stretch, sustaining her tender heart for the moment when she would have to bid him farewell.
Not until they broke apart did she notice that it was snowing again. Huge crystalline flakes filled the sky with their icy
purity.
“What should we do?” he asked, looking doubtful.
Her first instinct was to suggest that they return to the house, but she hesitated. The thought of their inevitable goodbye
became more difficult to bear every minute.
“We’re going back,” he said, answering his own question.
“Why?”
“I’m not leaving you and your father to deal with the horses. It’s bad enough that I dragged you this far.” Placing his foot
in the stirrup, he reached for the saddle and remounted. “Come on, before this snow gets any worse.”
“But we can make it to the Wilkens place.”
“Not now.” He raised his eyes skyward and scowled. “It’s already getting dark.”
Grumbling, she repacked her saddlebags, tugged Sampson’s reins free of the tree trunk and lifted her body onto his back with
the agile grace of a ballerina.
The house was in sight when Slade finally spoke again. “Once we get back, I need to contact Margaret. She’ll be waiting. I
told her I’d call Christmas Eve.”
Shelly’s heart constricted at the mention of the other woman’s name. Until now, unless she’d asked about Margaret, Slade hadn’t
volunteered any information about his fiancée. Now he had freely thrust her between them.
“She’s a good woman,” he said when Shelly stayed silent.
She didn’t know who he was trying to convince. “I didn’t think you’d love a woman who wasn’t.”
“I’ve known Margaret a lot of years.”
“Of course you have.” And he’d only known her a few days. She understood what he was saying. It was almost as if he were apologizing because Margaret had prior claim to
his loyalties and his heart. He didn’t need to. She’d accepted that from the beginning.