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“Something like that,” he admitted and parked the pickup next to Cat’s truck.
When they climbed out of the pickup, Cat greeted them with a hurried, “Sorry, I thought I would be gone before you got here. I left you a note inside,” she said, backing toward her own vehicle. “Your dinner is in the oven. It should be done in about”—she checked her watch—“twenty-five minutes. If Logan should call looking for me, tell him I’m going to run by the Shamrock and look in on Uncle Culley before I head home.”
“He’s not there,” Ty stated.
That stopped Cat. “Who isn’t?”
“O’Rourke.” With a nod of his head, he directed her attention to a spot beyond the trees. On the other side of the riverbank, partially obscured by the trunks of the cottonwood trees, a horse and rider watched them.
“I should have known Uncle Culley would follow me.” Cat’s voice carried a trace of sadness. “Funny, isn’t it? I can’t convince him to live with us. But he’s always close by, somewhere in the shadows.”
“He’s in no shape to be skulking around like a coyote.” It was a habit of O’Rourke’s that Ty had never particularly liked, conscious that the man was obsessively devoted to his sister.
“Tell him that.” Cat’s smile was full of skepticism over the likelihood her uncle would listen.
“How is he?” Jessy asked with sincere concern.
Cat sighed. “He hardly sleeps at all and doesn’t eat right. I guess you could say he’s back to normal.” She lifted her shoulders in a what-can-you-do shrug and moved again toward her truck. “Enjoy yourselves. And remember.” Cat pointed to Ty. “You owe me one.”
He waved in acknowledgment then spread his hand over the small of Jessy’s back. “Shall we?” He nodded toward the cabin.
Her gaze wandered over the old building, memories flooding back as they moved toward it. “Hasn’t this been sitting empty for a while?”
“Nearly two years,” Ty replied. “Long enough that it took two full days to get it cleaned up and everything in running order again.” He opened the door, then stepped back to let her enter first.
The cabin was small, just three rooms, with white plastered walls and chintz curtains at the windows. The simple fireplace, the old sofa, everything looked almost the same as when she’d lived in it except for the old kitchen table.
A gleaming white tablecloth, the best china and crystal from The Homestead, a pair of silver candlesticks, and a colorful bouquet of flowers had transformed it into an elegant table set for two. Jessy stared at it, tears welling in her eyes.
“Happy Anniversary,” Ty murmured, then steered her to the table and stepped forward to light the candles. “A few years back, right here in this house, you told me something that I have never forgotten. You said, even though you could ride like a man and work like a man, that didn’t mean you didn’t like flowers and candy.”
It was then that Jessy noticed the small, beribboned box of expensive chocolates, placed next to one of the settings. Completely lost for words and too choked with emotion to utter them anyway, Jessy could only look at him.
“Cat thought there should be a bottle of Dom Perignon on ice, but I explained that coffee was our drink,” Ty said. “She didn’t think it was a very romantic choice.”
Eyes swimming with tears, Jessy stood there for a long second, more touched by this simple gift than words could express. But she had never been good with words. By nature, she was a woman of action.
Her feet didn’t feel as if they touched the ground as she crossed the space and into his arms. His mouth came down, claiming hers in a kiss, filled with that slow, deep-burning warmth that had always been between them. It was the kind that steadied rather than shook, the kind that strengthened rather than weakened, that brought boldness rather than hesitancy. That was the magic of it, and the power.
He lifted his mouth a fraction of an inch, to murmur against her lips, “Dinner won’t be ready for another twenty minutes.”
His breath washed over her in hot, moist waves, and the brush of his mustache was whisper-soft against her skin. In answer, Jessy slid her hands around his neck, clasping them there as she echoed the phrase she had once used on a long-ago night, “Carry me.”
Ty smiled in remembrance. Bending, he scooped her into his arms and carried her that short distance into the bedroom. The slanting rays of the afternoon sun spilled through the window, falling across the bed’s down-turned covers and the saucy silk-and-lace nightgown lying atop it. Over in the corner stood an overnight bag.
“Something tells me we’re spending the night here,” Jessy remarked when she saw it.
“You are very quick,” Ty mocked as he let her feet slip to the floor.
“I try to be.” Jessy turned away to face the bed. “You have planned everything extremely well except for this.” She picked up the silky nightgown and tossed it on the floor. “That’s where it belongs.”
As Jessy reached back to unzip her dress, Ty was there, moving her hands out of the way. “Let me.”
With a single downward glide of his hand, the material parted. His hands came up to slip the garment off her shoulders while he nibbled his way along the leanly muscled squareness of them, arousing e
vocative little shivers to dance over her skin.
They undressed with the familiarity of husbands and wives, intent on reexploring old delights. The urgency was always there, just below the surface, but it didn’t push them. They made love with slow pleasure, letting passion build at its own unhurried pace to the inevitable climax.
