Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
At dusk, they headed for the pond.
Tessa skipped ahead, skates bouncing against her shoulder, excitement fizzing through her veins like champagne. She couldn’t help it. She spun back to face him, walking backward on the snowy path.
“C’mon, slowpoke. The ice isn’t going to skate itself.”
Cade didn’t hurry. Just gave a wry smile and shook his head. Her grandfather’s skates swung from his hand.
Heat rushed through her chest. This taciturn cowboy from another time was putting on her grandfather’s skates. Whee!
Beyond the Ponderosa pines trees, the pond silvered by moonlight, perfect as a Christmas card.
Her breath caught hard. The glassy frozen water held her childhood. Same snowbanks where she’d built forts. Same sky absolutely drunk on stars. Memory of Christmases with her grandparents swamped her. A simpler time. A sense of loss swept over her but she shook it off. Now was the time for fun!
Cade dropped onto a fallen log and tugged off his boots.
She sat beside him. Golly, the man radiated warmth like a furnace. She gulped and fumbled her laces, her fingers suddenly clumsy. Good grief, he was hot in more ways than one, and her brain short-circuited from proximity alone.
He shoved his feet into the old skates and tied up the laces. Stood.
She scrambled to knot her skates faster, panic threading through her fingers. What if he left her behind? What if he glided away and she had to wobble after him like a baby giraffe?
He scraped one blade against the snow, testing his balance.
She gulped past the tightness in her throat. He stood tall and graceful as if he understand gravity in a way she did not.
He stepped onto the pond and pushed off, steel whispering across the ice.
Her pulse slammed against her ribs. A cowboy. A time-traveling, horse-training, too-handsome-for-his-own-good cowboy. In her grandfather’s ancient skates. Gliding across the ice like he’d been born for frozen water.
“Wow.”
He carved a wide arc, shoulders relaxed, stride long and easy, like this was nothing, like he did this every day.
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. He wasn’t just managing. He was good. Really good.
He swung back toward her in a perfect curve, stopping with the kind of control that took years to master, ice shavings spraying in a tiny arc.
“You didn’t say you were good at this.”
“You didn’t ask.” His grin tugged crooked, devastating in moonlight.
She forced herself to stand, her knees jelly. The weight of the skates dragged at her feet like anchors. “Just so we’re clear, I haven’t skated since I was twelve. You might witness my dramatic demise.”
“No.” He reached for her palm. “You’ll skate. You might be wobbly at first, but your body will remember.”
She grabbed his hand like a lifeline, desperate to stay vertical. It wasn’t so much her rusty skill as his nearness that undid her.
His warmth swallowed her mitten whole, pulling her forward until her blades kissed the ice.
Her balance filed for divorce. She squealed, high and mortifying. “See? I’m toast.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. I got you.”
She clung to him with both hands, dignity abandoned, her clumsy jerks yanking her body side to side.
Panic sparked, then faded as she realized he never faltered, never wavered.
His balance compensated for every graceless lurch and soon, her body remembered just as he promised, and she was skating beside him.
He loosened his grip on her. “You okay for me to let go?”
No! Don’t let go. I need this. Need you. “Uh-huh.”
He kept hold of her hand. “Tessa?”
His eyes met her, dark and warm and focused entirely on her, and for a moment she forgot about her feet, forgot about the ice, forgot about everything except the way he stared at her.
Like she was a miracle.
Her blade caught a ridge. She stumbled. Her heart catapulted into her throat.
She cried out, half scream, half laugh.
Cade’s arm clamped around her waist, solid as iron, and hauled her upright against him.
Air left her lungs in a whoosh. She crashed into his chest, braced her mittens against his coat, her face buried against him.
He steadied her, then pushed off again, drawing her into a slow circle that felt like dancing. Her feet found his rhythm. Joy punched through her. She whooped, loud enough to echo across the pasture.
“You got this.” He let go of her then and she felt as if someone cut her lifeline.
Cade’s powerful legs shoved him hard but she matched him, short strokes at first, then longer. Their strides synced, blades hissing.
He shifted pace, tested her. She grinned and kept up. Breathless, giddy, the old skill came rushing back, not perfect but close enough.
They cut wide arcs across the pond, curving and crossing until her legs burned. She laughed, and he laughed too, not holding back, just letting happiness roll.
He slid closer, caught her hand, and spun her quick. The stars whipped overhead. She shrieked, and clamped both hands on his shoulders to keep from flying away.
Moonlight poured silver over everything, turning the ordinary pond into something from a dream. The world shrank down to just them, just this, just the whisper of blades on ice and their mingled breath.
Finally, legs quivering from exertion, she waved the white flag. “I’m pooped.”
He followed her over to the log, stood there grinning as she plunked down, not even breathing hard.
“You’re annoying.”
One eyebrow went up. “What’d I do?”
“You make it look easy. How did you get so good?”
“My pa liked to bet on things. Horses, cards… us kids. If there was money to be made, he’d use our skills to do it.”
Tessa winced. She hated hearing this.
Cade’s gaze latched on the skates. “When I was ten, every morning at dawn, he dragged me onto the pond. Didn’t matter if it was snowing, or if the ice cracked under me.
He forced me to skate for hours. If I slowed, if I stumbled, he’d pull off his belt and lay it across my back till I got moving again. ”
Her throat burned. She associated skating with laughter, love and hot cocoa afterward. For him, skating equalled abuse.
“Oh, Cade. Your father was abusive.”
He shook his head. “He was my Pa. My duty to obey him.”
Yikes! The gap between 1878 and the present gaped like a chasm.
The moon crowned him in silver, and her heart melted into a puddle. She ached for him, the boy he’d been. But Tessa wasn’t one to wallow.
“I’m starving, how about you?”
“Wanna build a fire and cookout?” he asked.
“Yeah. That sounds awesome!”
“I’ll build the fire if you gather the food.”
“You’re on.”
Tessa raced to the house, already planning the menu. She scrambled up the porch, scarf tails flying behind her like wings, heart thudding the way it had when she was sixteen and sneaking out for midnight adventures with her friends.
She had big fluffy marshmallows on hand, and she could whip up some hot cocoa for the thermos. Wieners for hot dogs. She was out of buns, but bread slices would do. Potato chips. Oh and skewers, she’d need skewers. And camp chairs. Her butt was already damp from sitting on that log.
Thirty minutes later, she returned to the pond, arms filled with supplies. A fire already crackled on the bank, sending sparks twisting into the darkness. Cade crouched beside it, feeding the flames more kindling.
She slowed, captivated by the sight. Firelight carved him in gold and shadow. Wowza! This man. Dangerous to look at too long, dangerous to want this much.
He caught her staring, one side of his mouth lifted. “Hey.”
“Hey right back atcha.” She held up the tote bag. “Feast of champions, coming right up.”
Cade took the camp chairs from her and set them up beside the fire.
She plunked the bag between the camp chairs and pulled out skewers.
Cade took one from her, no hesitation, and reached for the hot dogs, as if he wasn’t from 1878 and knew exactly what to do.
Figured. Even hot dogs, he handled like he’d been doing it his whole life.
She slid a wiener onto her skewer, the point punching through the skin. Cade already skewered his, neat and centered, of course.
The skin of her wiener hissed, split in spots, and blackened unevenly. Juice hissed into the fire as hers sagged. She gave it a half-turn, unconcerned. “Good enough.”
Cade rotated his slowly, browning the wiener evenly all the way around.
Gak! The man was too perfect.
When the hot dogs were gone, she tore open the marshmallow bag. The sugary smell puffed out sweet. She speared one and angled it to the fire.
Cade stopped her, his hand on her wrist. “Let me.”
Her pulse skipped. She let the skewer go, and watched him settle it over the flames. He turned it with the same patience he gave the horses.
His method took longer, but boy was it worth it. The marshmallow bloomed golden, edges crisp, center swollen soft. He lifted the skewer and held it out to her.
Her throat went dry. She leaned in and bit the marshmallow straight off the tip of his skewer. Sweetness burst across her tongue, gooey and delicious.
She closed her eyes, savoring. “That is the best roasted marshmallow I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“Did you have marshmallows in 1878?”
He nodded. “We did. But it was considered medicine, not dessert.”
“No kidding. What was it used for?”
“Coughs.”
“Huh, imagine that.”
“You want another one?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
They cooked and ate marshmallows until the bag was empty.
“With that big dose,” she said, licking her sticky fingers. “I shouldn’t cough all winter.”
He laughed, humor lighting up his dark gray eyes. His gaze lingered on her. Firelight caressed his cheekbones, and cut his jawline in shadows.
He leaned in.
She caught her breath. The world narrowed to the space between them. Would he kiss her? Oh, please kiss me.
From the corner of her eyes, she spied a bright streak slash across the sky.
Her pulse jumped. She jabbed her finger upward. “Falling star! Quick, make a wish.”
For a moment she braced for him to scoff, to talk about rocks burning in the sky. Instead, his eyes closed. Stillness fell over his face, lashes dark, expression unguarded.
Her chest squeezed. When he opened his eyes again, she whispered, “What’d you wish for?”
He answered with one word. “Home.”