Chapter Eight
I f Lucas had had any doubts about Bayleigh’s motivation, they were gone now. Nobody could fake the kind of confusion he’d seen on her face.
Confusion and . . . fear.
He couldn’t possibly have handled that worse. But seeing her in that bathing suit, her neck wet and bare, the swell of her breasts at the surface of the water, had triggered such a primal need, he’d had to know, immediately, if she was for real. Or if she was on Team Destroy Lucas Landry.
Well, she was for real. She’d been into him, without a doubt.
But he’d screwed that up royally.
Those personal questions had been foreplay. He’d taken them as gentle interrogation. There’s no way she could fake the lack of knowledge he’d seen on her face. She didn’t know about the notorious incident.
She’d simply liked him, as a man.
And he’d ruined it.
Worse, he’d frightened her.
He, who’d prided himself on his respect for women, had menaced a woman so thoroughly she’d ordered him off her property.
He threw on his clothing and limped to the house. His leg was looser now, the pain level low enough that he’d be able to sleep tonight, provided he still had a place to sleep and wasn’t tossing and turning with regret all night.
He found her on the patio again but unlike before, there was no glass of wine, no welcoming smile.
She had, however, poured them each a tall glass of water.
“Rehydrate,” she ordered, pointing to his glass.
“Thank you.” He sat down, took a drink, and looked at her. “Bayleigh, I made some unpleasant inferences about you and I had no right. I’m very sorry.”
“You said there was an explanation.”
The hardness was gone from her tone, as was the fear. Her dog sat next to her and while Lucas didn’t think the animal was dangerous in the least, he’d be a comfort to her. A noisy barricade between them.
He took a deep breath. “My company is called Landry Adventures. I take people out on wilderness trail rides, usually a week in length, sometimes more. I cater to people who might not be the typical outdoor adventure type. Often, they have accessibility issues. I’ve made something of a name for myself in the industry as a guy who doesn’t let a minor disability get in the way of a full life.” He paused. “Well, on my last tour, a woman got hurt. Badly. As in, she’s paralyzed from the waist down.”
Bayleigh drew a quick, audible intake of air.
“Yeah,” he said, with a humorless laugh.
In as few words as possible, he explained the social media attacks, the results of the investigation, the Schneider family’s pending suit, and how it had led to a growing sense of mistrust, almost paranoia.
“I thought Brade and Leila had heard of me, maybe judged me already. Maybe even were siding with the Schneiders,” he admitted. He rubbed his chin and gave a slight, humorless laugh. “Their reactions were similar to yours. Lucas Landry, making new friends wherever he goes.”
Bayleigh tugged her hoodie tighter around her chest. She looked small and cold and uncertain.
“That’s my story,” he said. “That doesn’t excuse my behavior but I hope it goes a little way toward explaining it at least. That young woman’s injury will haunt me for the rest of my days. I wish I could go back in time and prevent it. I’ve never had this kind of hate directed at me before. It’s a cancer, a horrible thing and I honestly don’t know how to deal with it. Everywhere I look, I imagine I’m seeing someone who’s thinking, ‘There’s the guy who crippled that poor girl.’ Or ‘Let’s smear what’s left of his reputation so that he’ll never work as a guide again.’” He shook his head, suddenly exhausted. “And none if it changes the fact that a brilliant future was cut off and a family left devastated.”
Silence fell between them. The night, lit only by the giant moon hanging like a beacon above the trees, was thick with the soft sounds of creatures scurrying or fluttering or whirring, and scented with green.
“I’ll go now,” Lucas said. “Thanks for listening.”
“Follow me,” Bayleigh said.
Annoyance tinged her tone but he couldn’t see her expression.
“I’m freezing and you must be too,” she continued. “And I’ve got leftover stew. You must be starving.”
He looked up at her, surprised.
“Oh, don’t act so shocked,” she said. “I’m not completely heartless.”
“I never said you were.”
“True,” she said. “You implied that I was a) hot to get you in my bed and/or b) hoping to dig up some dirt on you. Heartless didn’t come up.”
She tugged at his sleeve until he stood up and followed her into the house. The patio slider led through her bedroom, which he didn’t realize until he was in.
Her bedroom.
She led him through to the sitting room at the front of the house where a gas fireplace had already taken the chill off the evening air.
“I need some brandy.” She banged open a cupboard door. “Want some?”
“Um,” he said, “sure? What’s going on here, Bayleigh?”
She filled two snifters with enough brandy to anesthetize a horse, then scooped a ladle of beef stew into a bowl, cut a thick slice of what looked like homemade sourdough and plunked everything onto the table.
She gestured for him to take a seat, then sipped her brandy quietly while he ate. It was fantastic. When he was wiping the last of the gravy with the last of the bread, she finally spoke.
“Here’s the thing,” she said, perched on the chair opposite him. “I’m a pathetic, lonely middle-aged woman with a crush on the man who’s renting a cabin on her property.”
He almost choked on his drink.
“I don’t know much about you,” she went on, studiously not meeting his gaze, “except that I’m fantasizing about running my tongue down the muscles of your back.”
Any chill he’d felt was gone. The air seemed to pulsate with heat between them. His flesh prickled as if her words had already become reality.
“You’re the brother of two people who I know are good.” She nodded, swallowing. “You’re a little suspicious of me. I’m a little suspicious of you. My son thinks you might be a serial killer.”
His arm jerked enough to slosh brandy perilously close to the rim. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.” She sipped, shuddered, set her glass aside. “I’m embarrassed, Lucas. I was a teen bride. I’ve never been with anyone but my husband. I don’t know how to flirt. Am I imagining this, whatever this is, between us?”
The naked fear and longing in her eyes nearly undid him. He left his seat and crouched, awkwardly, in front of her.
“You’re not imagining anything, Bayleigh.” He gripped her hands. “I felt electricity the first time I laid eyes on you.”
She gazed at him with such intensity he marveled that he hadn’t caught fire. “I don’t do this, Lucas. No matter what you might think.”
“I don’t think anything. And, for the record, I don’t do this, either.” He forced himself to loosen his grip, lest he hurt her hands. But she clung to him like he was a life preserver.
“You’re not in a relationship?” she asked, very deliberately. “I need to know.”
“No.”
“When’s the last sexual encounter you had?”
He thought. “Almost a year. You?”
“No one since my husband.” She shook her head. “Is this crazy?”
“Probably. Bayleigh.” He hesitated. “I’m only here for a week.”
“I know.” She pressed her forehead against his. “I don’t care.”
“Really?”
“If I’ve learned anything in my life it’s this: take joy where you can. Don’t worry about the future because you have no idea what it’s going to be.”
He smiled. He certainly hadn’t been expecting this when he’d arrived in Grand, Montana.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, leaning closer.
“Oh, God,” she breathed. “It’s about time.”
*
Bayleigh Sutherland was a mature, modern woman in charge of her own orgasms. She wasn’t a prude, despite what her sexual history might suggest. She and Jeremy had learned together as kids, all hormones, with no skill or patience. Then, she’d been pregnant, then a new mother, then a broke wife with a broke, frustrated husband, both of them in over their heads, unprepared to help themselves, let alone each other. Eventually, however, their rocky beginning settled into a smoother track, and their sex life improved with it.
Over the long stretch of time in an empty bed since then, she’d shucked off the remaining childhood shame that was part and parcel of growing up female in a controlling patriarchal community and discovered the joys of her own body. If human bodies had been created by a loving entity (if she even still believed in such an entity, it certainly wasn’t an old white man on a throne) then shouldn’t those bodies, and the joy they contained, be considered divine, also?
Physical pleasure wasn’t the devil’s tool, useful only in tiny amounts according to dogmatic recipe; it was a divine gift, she now believed, that could magnify the human spirit. Just as shame begat shame, joy begat joy.
But as she lay back against the damp sheets, her arms flung out limp as overcooked noodles, she thought she’d had no idea. Absolutely no idea.
Lucas hadn’t brought condoms, which made her oddly happy, but she kept a box of them in the bathroom—for Ted, shudder—and that made her even happier.
This was pleasure for the sake of it, pure giving and receiving. No pressure to perform, no expectation on either side. She’d assured Lucas there was no concern about pregnancy; after all, despite her desperate hope for another child, endless temperature-taking, tests, and—finally—treatment for endometriosis, Ted was her one and only. And now, with her irregular periods suggesting perimenopause (pathetic, middle- aged woman), what little hope she might have kept hidden away was disappearing from the hourglass as quickly as anything.
She liked Lucas. But she loved the way he made her feel. They’d taken a brief time-out at around midnight to finish off the beef stew and bread, before returning for another round.
His touch ignited something long buried, perhaps never even unearthed at all. Or maybe, it took this long for the confidence necessary to bring desire fully to life.
He was gentle, patient, but thorough and relentless.
“You alive?” she asked.
He took so long to answer that she nudged him.
“Barely,” he replied. “You’re an animal. A magnificent, incredible, insatiable panther. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”
“Me?” she said. Which was just a blatant invitation for him to heap more compliments on her.
“Yes. Now, your turn. How was I?”
He lifted himself onto his elbow and traced a line down her cheek with his finger.
She shrugged. “You were okay.”
His eyes widened and in an instant she was on her back, pinned by his beautiful body.
“‘Okay’?” he growled. He nipped at her bottom lip.
“Yeah,” she managed to say. She swore her uterus was quivering. “But if you want to try for a better rating, go right ahead.”
“Is that a challenge?” His dark eyes danced in the moonlight streaming through the window.
“If you think you’re up to it,” she said, matching his tone.
He nudged her with his hip. “You tell me.”
She was just as ready as he was and this time, instead of the furious pace set by their frantic mutual need, they went slowly, touching and tasting and reveling in their exploration. By the time he collapsed on her, gasping, she wondered if she’d caught a glimpse of heaven.
“What is this?” she whispered once their breathing had gotten back to normal.
“Don’t ask me,” he said. “This is new territory.”
“When do you go home?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Saturday morning.”
Today was Monday. They had four more days.
Four days.
“Bayleigh,” he said, and she knew what he was going to say.
She pressed her index finger against his lips. “Don’t. This is what we’ve got. Let’s enjoy it for what it is. Okay?”
He nodded.
Neither of them had seen this coming. Neither of them had room in their life for something big. He had enough on his plate already. He was here to get to know his siblings and make peace with his biological history. Then, he would return to Colorado to reestablish his career.
She was here, freshly transplanted, with ambitious goals and a rosy future she intended to see to fruition.
A fling with a lovely man wasn’t going to change anything for her. Nor would it for him.
They were simply two people brought together by random chance, surprisingly compatible, taking comfort in each other for whatever time they had together. Nothing more. No pressure or expectation on either side.
Simple.