Page 31 of Wild and Wanted

Stevie knew she had no reason to complain about the bounty of her life, and she didn’t. She was living the dream. A dream so many people out there would trade their souls for. It was just that… being the star of the show wasn’t really her dream.

Pushing those thoughts aside, her brain turned to what had preoccupied her for two days solid – the kiss. A wave of heat rolled through her belly and a sigh escaped her lips as she replayed it for the millionth time. Her lips still tingled at the memory and her body flushed with warmth at the thought that Clay could have had her against that wall.

Purity ring be damned.

She’d asked for cataclysmic. For oblivion. And he had delivered, surpassing all her expectations. Stevie had never felt so alive. So swept up in the rapture of her body. So thrilled at the hard heat of him lodged against the throbbing, aching heart of her. She’d wanted to crawl inside his skin.

Who knew how far it would have gone had her mother not interrupted.

Then, after her mother had left for the airport, she’d sat and completed ‘Cowboy Kisses’ in half an hour, drawing together the bits and pieces of lyrics she’d already written, adding more in a tsunami of words all vying with each other to get out.

Which never happened. Not for her, anyway.

She loved writing songs but that didn’t mean it was easy, and her crippling sense of perfectionism didn’t help. Her tribute to Yolly had been painfully slow, her emotions too big to properly articulate. But this song had come together so quickly and so easily, her fingers flying across the strings of her guitar as the chords had come in perfect clarity. As if they’d been gifted from God.

Will you play it for me? Promise?

Those words had whispered through her head more than once, too, his soft query doing something to her that the kiss had not. Maybe it was him being interested in her beyond what had happened in that stable. Maybe it had been that this incredibly tough guy, who rode wild bucking horses for a living, was interested in something so completely opposite to what he did every day.

Something so… nebulous and arty and girly.

Whatever it was, she hadn’t hesitated in granting his request. Yolly had always been her first listener. Always. A song had never felt right until she’d sung it to her sister. And there had been a thousand things she’d missed about her sister since her death but that one was the worst.

Yes, Stevie had lost a sister that day but she’d also lost the other half of her music. She and Yolly had been a package deal forever and doing this without her had been unbearable. The music hadn’t gone but that inner world had abruptly turned sepia when it had always been so shiny and bright.

But Clay wanting to hear it? Him being the first person she sang it to? That was special. That made her chest ache. Even if she was a little miffed at him right now for his radio silence since the stables.

Stevie had half expected to see him after her mother had driven away because there was no way he couldn’t have overheard the news about her grandmother’s stroke. Or later that evening after he’d finished for the day. The fact she hadn’t, to be really honest, had hurt a little. The man could kiss her seven ways to Sunday but couldn’t check that she was okay?

Like his mother and his sister had?

To be fair to him, Mags had said that he’d ridden out with Dev and the other cowhands just prior to her mother leaving and would be gone at least overnight, but there were these things called phones. They had one in the cabin with a direct line to the main ranch house.

Why hadn’t he picked up the phone and asked her if she was okay?

Thankfully her grandmother’s condition was improving and her mom, whose last experience of hospital was those four terrible days with Yolly before they’d made the awful decision to cease life support, sounded like she was coping.

But what if it hadn’t gone that way?

Sure, they’d just met and had only kissed twice – if the first time counted at all. He didn’t owe her anything. They weren’t together. He wasn’t her boyfriend. And yet, she’d expected more from Clay.

Which was dumb. And why kissing him had been a very bad idea.

One cataclysmic moment in his arms and a gift of a song and she was already feeling too much, building castles in the air over a man who didn’t mind backing her against a wall and kissing her, but God forbid should show her a little empathy.

Her heart was far too inexperienced for this.

The aroma of meat searing on the BBQ and the quiet beat of country music and voices drifted to her suddenly on the breeze, pulling Stevie out of her thoughts. The big red barn with its white roof and shutters came into view, as did the cookout which looked to be in full swing. There were about a dozen people sitting around a campfire on either bales of hay or chairs that reclined all the way so the occupier could stargaze when, later in the evening after the fire had burned low, Mags gave a talk about the stars overhead.

As she neared she noticed Dev, Walt and Kirby along with some of the other cowhands standing around in their good jeans, good boots and their ranch-issued dress shirts with the RVR logo stitched on the left side of their chests, chatting to guests. Which meant they were back from the job that had taken them all away.

Which also meant…

Tension coiled in Stevie’s body as she neared. Was Clay back as well? Would he be here, too, even though he’d not been to the three previous ones she’d attended? She searched everyone’s faces as she approached but none of them belonged to the guy she was most seeking, and she tried to temper her disappointment. Because despite not hearing anything from him in two days, she’d still been hoping he’d show tonight.

Idiot.

A booming laugh from Clay’s dad drew her attention to the BBQ where he was flipping burgers as he talked to a couple wearing matching red bandanas around their necks. People around the campfire, some of whom she’d met at the last cookout, nodded a greeting. The newer ones looked at her speculatively, some clearly recognising her face but not sure of her identity – yet.