Page 22 of Clashing Moon

I nodded, smiling. “That too.”

“It’s remarkable, really, what you’ve done with your life.”

“You mean, considering my father?” I asked.

“That and the other difficulties you faced.”

“I suppose you could say that about most people. I’ve been lucky in a lot of ways.”

“Attitude is everything, right?” Rafferty asked. “That’s what my mother always says, anyway. You do the best with what you have.”

He looked handsome in the dim light, with his hair all disheveled and a five-o’clock shadow. Since high school, he seemed to have found the thirty pounds I’d lost in the form of sheer muscle. His shoulders and back were broad, much more so than most men who had a distinctly white-collar job. How did he stay in such good shape now that he no longer did ranch work?

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Rafferty asked. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

“No.” I flushed, mortified that he’d caught me staring. “You look good. That’s all.”

“Wait a minute, are you giving me a compliment?”

“You’re in good shape. Bigger than in high school. That’s all I meant.”

“I have a home gym. And the internet. That’s all I need,” he said. “But it’s nice to know you’ve noticed.”

I’d noticed all right. Alarmingly so.

He yawned, which caused me to yawn.

“Should we get some sleep?” I asked. “Who knows what tomorrow might bring.”

“Good call.”

We put away the wine and rinsed the jars, and then took turns using the bathroom and brushing our teeth. By the time I returned to the main room, Rafferty was lying on his back with his head on his jacket. He looked completely uncomfortable. Not to mention how cold he would get.

“Don’t read too much into this,” I said as I unzipped the sleeping bag. “But I think you should sleep up here with me. We can put the sleeping bag over both of us.”

“That’s a small cot.”

“We can spoon it up. Isn’t that what you said?”

A glint came to his eyes, but he only grinned and shrugged. “If you insist.”

“You lie down first, and I’ll get in next to you.”

He did as I asked, pulling one side of the sleeping bag over him and lifting the other side for me to slide in next to him.

I closed my eyes, comforted by the warmth of his muscular frame. He had one arm around my shoulder and the other draped around my waist. A girl could get used to this.

“You okay?” Rafferty asked, his breath warm against the back of my neck.

“Yeah, you?”

“I’m afraid my arm may fall asleep. The one under you.”

“What can we do about that?”

“I could roll onto my back, and you could sleep on top of me,” he said. “I think that would be more comfortable for both of us.”

“Yeah, okay.” The idea of sleeping on Rafferty’s chest made my eyes sting with unshed tears. Why? I had no idea.

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