Page 38 of Snow Kisses

“And if you don’t get off my ranch pretty quick, Abigail Shane, you may do it once too often,” he said flatly. His eyes were dark and full of secrets as he nibbled at a piece of chicken.

“I have utter trust in your remarkable self-control, Mr. McLaren,” she muttered, picking at her own food while he put his away like a last meal.

He made a strange sound, a laugh that died away too quickly, and finished his food before he spoke again. He swallowed his coffee and stretched out lazily on the ground while Abby gathered up the remnants of the picnic and put everything except the red-checkered cloth back in the hamper and set it aside.

“You’ll be busy with roundup from now on, I guess,” she commented after a long silence. Her eyes went to the distant grassy ridges, green and lonely, with pale blue mountains beyond them. The only trees in sight were the ones they were under, and the small thicket of pines nearby. It was like paradise, all clean air and open land and fluffy clouds drifting overhead.

“It’s spring,” he remarked. “Calves won’t brand themselves.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“I reckon I won’t die,” he muttered. He was smoking another cigarette, something he seemed to be doing constantly these days. He had once said it was something he did a lot when he was nervous. That almost made her laugh. He would never be nervous around her.

She drew up her jean-clad legs and rested her chinon her updrawn knees, sighing as she watched the river flow lazily by. “Remember when we came fishing up here the summer I graduated from high school?” she said. “You and me and Melly and a couple of the hands? You caught the biggest crappie I’d ever seen, and Melly got her hook caught in one of the cowboy’s jeans….” She laughed, remembering the incident as if it were yesterday.

She stared at the river, lost in memory. It had been a day much like this one. Green and full of sun and laughter. Hank had been along; so had a cowboy whose name she couldn’t remember—one Melly had a crush on. But Abby had somehow wandered close to Cade and stayed there while they fished in the river.

It was just a few weeks after he’d taken her to his room, and she’d been much too shy to approach him, but she’d eased as close as she could get.

“Cold?” he’d teased, glancing down at her.

And she’d blushed, looking away. “Oh, maybe a little,” she’d lied. But they both knew the truth, although it didn’t seem to bother him a bit.

“Jesse said you’d been thinking about going to New York,” he’d mentioned.

“One of my teachers said I had the right carriage and figure and face for it,” Abby had said enthusiastically, dreaming how it would be to have Cade and a career all at once.

“New York is a long way from Painted Ridge,” he’d murmured, scowling at his fishing rod. “And full of disappointment.”

That had pricked her temper, as if he didn’t think shewere pretty enough or poised enough for such a career in a big city.

“You don’t think I can do it?” she’d asked with deceptive softness.

He’d laughed. “You’re just a kid, Abby.”

“I was eighteen last month. I’m a woman,” she’d argued.

His head had turned. His dark eyes had gone over every inch of the shorts and tank top she wore, darkening at the sight of her slender, well-proportioned body.

“You’re a woman, all right,” he’d said, and looked up.

Her eyes had met his at point-blank range. Even now, she could remember the wild feelings that look had stirred, the hot pleasure of his eyes holding hers. Oblivious to everything around them, she’d actually moved toward him.

And Melly had said something to break the delicate spell. For the rest of the afternoon, they’d fished, and Cade’s manner had relaxed a little. She’d tossed a worm at him out of pique when he caught the fish she’d been trying to land for several hours. And he’d picked her up bodily and thrown her in the river….

“You threw me in the river,” she remarked suddenly, glaring at him.

His eyebrows arched. “I what?”

“That day we went fishing, the month before I left for New York,” she reminded him. “You threw me in the river.”

He chuckled softly. “So I did. But you started it,honey. That damned worm hit me right between the eyes.”

“It was my fish you caught,” she muttered. “My big crappie. I’d half hooked him and he’d gotten away three times. And you just sat there and hauled him out of circulation forever.”

“I let you have half of him when Calla cooked him,” he reminded her. “That should have made up for it a little.”

Her full lips pouted. “I don’t know about your half, but mine tasted bitter.”

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