Warning bells went off in Sam’s mind, clanging loudly enough that he should have reacted to them. He should have let her go, taken a huge step back and then spent the rest of the night trying to forget the taste of her. The scent of her. The feel of her.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her warmth, feeling the shudder that wracked her body and tasting the sigh that slipped from her mouth into his. Her arms came up around his neck, her fingers smoothing through his hair, nails dragging along his scalp. A chill raced along his spine and danced with the blood boiling in his veins.

Those warning bells came louder, but still Sam tuned them out. He couldn’t walk away from this. Couldn’t turn his back on a need, a hunger, that was suddenly stronger than anything he’d ever known.

A hot summer wind wrapped itself around them and Sam dived deeper into the wonder that was Maggie. Lifting her off her feet, he staggered away from the bank, laid her down on the cool, green grass and levered himself over her.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he shifted, kissing the line of her jaw, trailing his lips along the curve of her neck to the dip of her shoulder. He inhaled her scent, the lingering trace of floral shampoo in her hair, the clean, fresh scent of the lake water clinging to her skin. And he felt heat pool inside him, swamping him with a raw hunger that clawed at him.

She sighed, slid her hands up and down his back, and even through the fabric of his T-shirt he felt the warmth of her touch singeing his skin. Sam shuddered, lifted his head and stared down into eyes as dark as his own. Moonlight flashed in her eyes and highlighted the desire shining there. When she took his face between her palms and pulled him down for a kiss, her mouth met his with a tenderness he hadn’t expected. A gentleness that rocked him more thoroughly than the need clamoring inside.

Then her teeth tugged at his bottom lip, her tongue touched the tip of his and gentleness was forgotten. A nearly electrical jolt of something amazing shot through Sam, stealing his breath as it pushed his hunger to an overwhelming pitch.

He groaned and swept one hand down the length of her body, feeling every curve, enjoying the cool dampness of her bathing suit and the heat waiting for him at her center. He cupped her, and even through the fabric separating his flesh from hers, he felt that heat pulling him in. For days he’d thought about this moment. He’d dreamed about touching her, the feel of his skin against hers. The brush of her lips, the sigh of her breath.

In the few days he’d known her, Maggie had invaded his every thought. While a part of him worried over his grandfather and the consequences of returning to the ranch, there was another completely separate part of him that hadn’t been able to keep from thinking about her. From the moment he’d met her there’d been something simmering in the air between them. Something he’d never felt before. Something he really didn’t want to think about.

At the moment it was enough to have her. To touch her.

She gasped and arched into his touch, her legs separating, parting to give him easier access.

It wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

Wanted more.

Still kissing him, tantalizing him, her hands dropped to his belt and tugged at his shirt, pulling the hem of it free of his jeans and then pushing it up over his chest. Her palms splayed against his skin and it felt as though she were branding him—and he wanted to feel her hands all over him.

Instantly he sat up, ripped off his shirt and tossed it to one side. He watched her and his breath strangled in his throat as she pushed first one strap of her suit, then the other off her shoulders. The tops of her breasts peeked up from the edge of the suit, straining against the stretchy fabric as if trying to escape. When she would have slid the suit farther down though, he stopped her.

Heart pounding, throat tight, he grabbed her hands, stilled them and whispered, “Let me.”

She licked her lips, nodded and then closed her eyes as he pushed the bathing suit down and off her until she lay naked in the moonlight. Her tan lines gleamed pale against her honey-colored flesh, and he found himself wishing she’d worn the bikini that had created those lines.

“Went for a one-piece tonight,” he murmured, lips curving.

She smiled and lifted one hand toward him. “I thought it would be… safer to be covered up, just in case I ran into you out here.”

His smile faded as he watched her eyes. “Do you want to be safe?”

She shook her head. “No. I want you.”

“Glad to hear it.” He dipped his head and took first one of her nipples and then the other into his mouth.

Her soft sighs scalded him. “Sam…”

“I’ve been thinking about doing this since that first night,” he admitted, lifting his head as he stroked one hand down her chest, between her breasts, past her navel to the soft, dark curls at the juncture of her thighs.

“Me, too,” she said and reached for him, running her fingertips down his chest, scraping her thumbnails across his flat nipples.

He groaned again, fighting for air. For control. But it was a hopeless battle. With this woman naked before him, control wasn’t something he was really interested in. All he wanted, all he could think about, was burying himself inside her, feeling her heat surround him, surrendering to the hunger.

Standing up, he toed off his boots, ripped off his jeans and then knelt down on the cool, soft grass in front of her. She sucked in air like a drowning woman and reached out her arms to him.

“Don’t wait,” she said, planting her feet, lifting her hips and rocking them in silent invitation. “Don’t wait another minute.”

“No. No waiting.” He stretched out over her, bracing himself on his hands at either side of her head. His gaze locked with hers as he entered her.

“Tight.”

“Good,” she whispered, arching her head back, keeping her gaze on his as he filled her. “Oh… Sam…”

Better than good, he thought, biting back another groan of desperation. Essential. With one hard thrust he shoved himself all the way home, and she gasped, drawing her legs up, wrapping them around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper.

He rocked his hips against hers, moving in and out of her heat with a rhythm driven by an overpowering need. She moved with him in a frantic dance fed by the flames devouring them both. Together they slid into a vortex of need that erupted around them, growing even as the demands of their bodies were met. The rest of the world dropped away and it was only the two of them—wrapped in a cocoon of desire that stripped away thought, logic, caution.

Lost in the sigh of the wind and the call of a night bird, they raced toward completion. The blanket of grass their bed, the star-filled sky their roof, they were locked together in the darkness, lost in each other.

Maggie stared up into Sam’s eyes as he took her, as his body claimed her, pushing her higher and faster than she’d ever been before. His body pushed into hers, and a delicious friction erupted within, sparkling through her veins like shaken champagne exploding from the bottle. She held on to him tightly, her arms and legs wrapped around his hard, strong body. She felt his breath on her cheek, saw the tempest in his eyes and knew she shared it.

Breathless, she clung to the edge of sanity and fought for the wild release just out of reach. She arched into him again and again, trying to take him even deeper inside, struggling toward the soul-shattering end waiting for her.

“Sam… Sam…” Her voice, broken, shattered the quiet.

“Come for me,” he whispered, his voice rumbling through her like a freight train.

“It… feels…” She couldn’t define it. Couldn’t explain it. Could only enjoy it and hope she survived it. And in the next second her body splintered in a fiery burst of sensation that nearly blinded her in its raw fury. She screamed, arching into him, quivering with the slam of pleasure that rocked her right down to her soul. She trembled and held on to him as if it meant her life while wave after wave of ecstasy rippled through her again and again.

Body dissolving, a whimper clogged in her throat, Maggie still found the strength to cradle Sam when he emptied himself into her with a groan torn from the depths of his soul.

Sam lay atop her and thought that even if it had meant his life, he wouldn’t be able to move. Heart thudding in his chest, he felt the rapid-fire echo of her heart beating in time with his and knew she’d been as shaken as he. Gathering his strength, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down into her eyes. “You okay?”

She licked her lips, blew out a short laugh, then moaned as their bodies moved together again. “I should be fine,” she said. “Once the paralysis goes away.”

“I hear that.” Smiling, he brushed his palm across her breast and relished the hissed intake of her breath at the contact. She squirmed beneath him, her hips twisting, and he felt his body swell within her again.

She must have felt it, too.

“I see you’re not completely immobile.”

“Apparently not.” He rocked his hips against hers, enjoying her quick inhalation of air and the way her body responded to his intimate invasion.

Her arms dropped to her sides, then swept along the grass until they lay stretched out behind her head. She looked like an Earth goddess. Moonlight pale on her skin, the long, green grass enveloping her, her still-damp hair spread out around her, her eyes glazed with a quickening need that he felt, too.

“Maggie,” he whispered, bending his head to taste her mouth, to mate her tongue with his, to give her his breath and swallow hers.

“Sam,” she whispered, stretching, twisting, writhing beneath him, “we’re going to do it again, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah. Again.”

Sliding his hands beneath her back, he lifted her as he went to his knees. She took him deeper and groaned as she straddled him and he dropped his hands to her hips.

Throwing her head back, Maggie stared blindly up at the night sky as she rocked on him, taking him so deep inside that she felt as though he was touching the tip of her heart. Her arms wrapped around his neck. She clung to him and ground her hips against him, creating the friction that sizzled deep within.

He guided her every movement with his strong hands and held her steady even when she felt as though she were about to fly apart. Lifting her head, she looked into his eyes and dived into their darkness, drowning in their depths, losing herself in the heat, the need, the tantalizing sensations of wickedness that rippled through her and around her.

And this time when the end came hurtling toward them, they reached it together and clung to each other like survivors of a storm.

Time drifted by, and Maggie wasn’t sure if minutes or hours had passed when she finally drew a deep breath and lifted her head from his shoulder. “I think that paralysis may be permanent this time.”

“Better not be,” he said, his voice muffled with his mouth against the base of her neck. “It gets cold out here in the middle of the night. Even in summer. We could freeze.”

“Well,” Maggie said, laughing slightly, “that would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it? Naked ice statues discovered by some poor rancher.”

He didn’t respond and Maggie’s smile slowly faded. Carefully he lifted her off him and she sighed with loss as his body slipped from hers. Without the sexual heat surrounding them, the kiss of the wind felt icy on her sweat-dampened skin and she shivered.

He noticed and leaned to one side, grabbed up the summer dress she’d worn over her swimsuit and handed it to her. “You should get dressed.”

She frowned a little as she pulled her dress over her head and wiggled into it. Her gaze followed him as he snatched up his jeans and stepped into them, tugging them up his long, muscled legs. He buttoned them up, then turned to look down at her.

“I’m sensing the magic is over,” she said and held out one hand toward him. He took it and pulled her to her feet in one smooth move.

“Maggie.” Scrubbing one hand across his face, he shook his head, bent and scooped up his T-shirt from the grass. Fisting it in one hand, he looked at her and said, “I don’t want you to think that—”

“Hold that thought,” she said, lifting one hand for silence and was almost surprised when she got it. “If you’re going to start telling me that this—” she waved one hand at the now-flattened patch of grass “—doesn’t mean anything, don’t worry. I’m not expecting a proposal or something.”

Her heart twisted a little. She didn’t do this kind of thing lightly. She’d been with exactly one other man in her life, and then it was because she’d thought she was in love. And really, wasn’t thinking you were in love the same as being in love? But even then she hadn’t felt the same… need, that she’d felt for Sam from the beginning. Tonight had been inevitable. Where it went from here was still in question.

“Yeah, but—”

Maggie cut him off, speaking up quickly. “And you know, I don’t usually sleep with a man I’ve known less than a week.” Before he could open his mouth again, she said, “It was just…”

“I know,” he said quietly. “You kind of hit me hard, too.”

“Really?”

He gave her a brief one-sided smile. “You’ve been making me nuts for days.”

“You, too,” she admitted with a sigh, then clarified, “I mean, you’ve been getting to me, too.”

“You should know,” he said tightly as he pulled his T-shirt on, shoving his arms through the sleeves, “I didn’t come down here tonight for this—” he paused. “I mean, that wasn’t the plan.”

“What was the plan then?”

“Damned if I know.” He shrugged, frowned into the distance, then shifted his gaze back to hers. “Guess I wanted to see you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Me, too, but—”

“But…?”

“It’s a little late to be asking,” he said, “and as a doctor, I sure as hell should have known better.” He shook his head and stabbed both hands through his hair impatiently. “Can’t believe I didn’t think. Didn’t consider—”

“What?”

He turned a flat, emotionless stare on her. “I didn’t use anything.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “A condom?”

“Oh.” She thought about it for a second, then realization dawned like a hammer to the head. “Oooh.”

“Crap.” He closed his eyes, sighed heavily, then opened them again to look at her. “I’m guessing from your reaction that you’re not on the Pill.”

“No reason to be,” she said and slapped one hand to her abdomen as if she could somehow protect it belatedly. “I mean, until you—tonight—well, it’s been… a long time.”

Oh, she really had been way too wrapped up in the heat of the moment. Her stomach did a slow swirl and dip as the ramifications of what they’d done hit home. They might have made a baby tonight.

“Damn it.” He leaned over, grabbed his boots and straightened up again, his features tight, his eyes shuttered. “Stupid. I was stupid. Sorry doesn’t seem like enough.”

“We were both stupid,” she reminded him. “I was there, too, so you don’t get to take the whole blame. It’s not as if you took advantage of me or something. I’m a grown-up and I make my own choices.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make this any easier.”

“Maybe not,” she said, “but this is just as much my fault as yours, so no point in wasting a perfectly good apology.”

She tried to think. Tried to figure out where she was in her cycle. Then she gave it up because she’d never been good with math anyway. She crossed her fingers for luck and said, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re sure.”

“It was only the once.”

“Twice.”

“Right.” She blew out a breath and told herself not to panic. No point in panicking yet. She swallowed hard and nodded as if convincing herself as well as him. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said, his gaze still narrowed and thoughtful on her. “But you’ll tell me. Either way.”

“Of course,” she said. “There won’t be anything to tell, but if there is, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Good. Good.” He nodded firmly, as if that settled the matter. “And just so you know, I’m healthy.”

“Oh, I am, too,” she assured him and wished that sex in the twenty-first century could be a little less clinical and a little more fun. Although, they’d had fun and now look where they were.

After that an awkward silence stretched out between them. An owl hooted in the distance, and with a push from the wind the lake lapped at the shoreline. Leaves rustled overhead, and from the next ranch came the sound of a barking dog, eerie in the darkness.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Maggie,” he said suddenly, his voice hardly louder than the soft, papery rustle of the leaves.

Her heart fisted in her chest and Maggie sensed him pulling even further away from her. There was misery in his eyes and a loneliness in his voice that tore at her.

“What makes you think you will?”

He shifted his gaze from her to the dark surface of the lake. He stared hard, and Maggie had the distinct impression that he was looking at the lake not as it was now but as it had been on a long-ago summer day. And almost to himself he said, “There’s just no other way.”

Seven

Over the next week Jeremiah sensed a change between Sam and Maggie. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was pretty sure there was more going on between them than they were saying. Every time one of them came into the room, the other one started getting jumpy.

He was old.

Not stupid.

When his bedroom door opened, Jeremiah lay back against his pillows weakly, just in case. Sunlight lay across him in a slice of gold. He opened one eye, spotted his friend Bert and sat straight up. “About time you got here. Did you bring it?”

Bert winced and closed the bedroom door with a quiet snick. “For God’s sake, keep it down. Yes, I brought it—and it’s the last time,” he added as he stalked toward the bed.

Bert’s face was flushed, and guilt shone in his pale blue eyes so clearly it was easily readable even from behind the thick glasses he wore.

“Now, Bert,” Jeremiah said, swinging his legs off the bed, “no reason to start losing your nerve now.”

The other man set his black leather medical bag on the edge of the bed and gave the tarnished bronze clasp a quick twist. Then he delved one handed into the bag and pulled out a bottle of single-malt scotch. Scowling fiercely, he handed it over. “It isn’t about nerve, Jeremiah. It’s about what’s right. I don’t like lying to Sam.”

Frowning himself, Jeremiah studied the bottle of scotch. “Well, come to it, neither do I. But I had to get them all home somehow.”

“Yes, but he’s here now. Tell him the truth.”

“Not yet.” Jeremiah shook his head and fought his own feelings of guilt. He didn’t like worrying his grandsons, but once they were all here, back where they belonged, he’d tell them the truth together. Resolve strengthened, he nodded firmly and asked, “Say, Bert, when you were downstairs, did you happen to notice anything between Sam and Maggie?”

At the abrupt change of subject, Bert blinked, then thought about it for a long minute. “Nope. Can’t say that I did. Though Maggie wasn’t in the house. Sam let me in.” Giving his head a slow shake, he said, “Tried to talk to him about sticking around. Buying my practice.”

Jeremiah perked up at that. “What’d he say?”

“Same as always,” Bert said on a sigh and sat down on the edge of the mattress beside his friend. Tiny dust mites danced in the sunlight, tossed by the brush of wind slipping under the partially opened sash. “He’s not staying. Not interested in sticking around. Wants to practice medicine on his terms.”

“Disappointing,” Jeremiah said on a matching sigh as he twisted the cap on the scotch bottle, breaking the seal. He lifted the bottle, took a sip, then handed it off to Bert. “The boy’s a hardhead, no doubt about it.”

Bert snorted, took a quick pull on the scotch and said, “Wonder where he got that trait?”

Maggie walked along the line, pulling the wooden clothespins free and taking down the now-dry sheets and pillowcases. Carefully she folded each item as she went and set it in the basket at her feet. When she’d finished one item, she kicked the basket along and moved on to the next.

Sam stood on the back porch, one shoulder leaning against the newel post as he watched her.

With Bert upstairs keeping Jeremiah occupied, he’d followed his instincts—which had brought him here.

To Maggie.

He didn’t like admitting that, even to himself, but there it was. Without really wanting to or even trying, he’d found a connection with this woman. He was already used to seeing her every day. To hearing her sing to herself when she thought no one was around. To seeing the way she cared for his grandfather and this place.

God, he’d missed the ranch. When he was a kid, the summers he’d spent here had meant more to him than anything. This place, this ranch, had been more home to him than any of the military bases he’d grown up on. His parents had always been too wrapped up in each other to take much notice of him—so the summers with his grandparents and cousins had shone golden in his mind. He’d always known that this place was here for him. This town. This ranch.

His gaze shifted briefly away from Maggie to encompass the ranch yard. The barn/stable needed a good coat of paint, and there were a few weeds sprouting up at the edges of the building and along the fence line. In the old days, weeds had never had a chance. But times had changed.

Too much had changed.

At the thought, his gaze drifted back to Maggie. Completely oblivious to him, she kept moving along the line of clean clothes she’d pegged out to dry hours ago. She wore white shorts that hit her midthigh and a tiny yellow tank top. Her white sneakers were old and worn, and her shoulder-length dark hair was drawn back into a ponytail that swayed with her movements like a metronome.

When he found himself smiling at the picture she made, he worried.

“If you’re going to stand out here anyway,” she called out, never turning her head, “the least you could do is help fold.”

He straightened up and blew out a disgusted breath. So much for being the stealthy type. Taking the steps to the grass, he wandered over to her side. “How’d you know I was there?”

She swiveled her head to glance at him. “I could feel you watching me.”

He quirked one eyebrow at her.

She grinned briefly. “Okay, and I heard you come outside. The screen on the kitchen door still squeaks.” Shrugging, she added, “Then there was the sound of your boot heels on the porch—not to mention that tired-old-man sigh I heard just a minute or two ago.”

Her fingers never stopped. She plucked off clothespins, dropped them into a canvas sack hanging from the line and then folded the next item.

“You’re too observant for your own good,” he said, taking the edge of the sheet when she held it out to him.

“Oh, I am,” she agreed, folding one edge of the sheet over the other, then walking toward him to make the ends meet. “Just like I’ve observed that you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

Sunlight played on her hair, dazzling the streaks of blond intermingled with the darker strands. She squinted up at him, and he noticed for the first time that she had freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Not many. Just a few. Just enough to make a man want to count them with kisses.

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