Lost But Not Forgotten (13 page)

No matter how badly he hurt, Mitch derived immense satisfaction from watching Gillian’s reaction to his favorite haunt. He took his time dismounting. As his pain eased, he loosened the girth on his saddle and limped back to do the same with hers.

“Mitch, Mitch! Come quick. Are those your horses running through that rocky canyon? Oh, they’ll be killed.” Gillian clapped a hand over her mouth. Mitch
recognized the low keening sound she made as fear for the animals.

Slowly, he limped up behind her and pulled her back against his chest. “That’s a sight few are privileged to see, Gilly. Our local band of wild horses. The white stallion leading them has been king for a decade. As far as you can see is reservation land. The O’Otam people call him Winter Smoke.”

“So they’re Indian horses?”

“Nope. They’re free. Thousands of wild horses still run free on public and reservation land in Arizona. Some ranchers want them destroyed. Here, we take turns hauling out feed for them in the winter.”

“Don’t they steal from your herd?” She leaned against him, tipping back her head to meet his eyes.

Mitch gripped her upper arms hard, fighting the temptation to turn her around and kiss lips whose taste he vividly recalled. “My hope is that Winter Smoke knows I care about him. I like to think we have an understanding. If I’m wrong and one day he steals a mare or two from me, I hope my herd will have grown to the point that I can say
so be it.
”

Gillian turned his words over in her mind. His credo was diametrically opposed to Daryl’s, to whom money in the bank meant everything. Mitch’s outlook more closely matched her own belief—that it was better to share wealth. She’d frequently given an impoverished child flowers to present to mom or a favorite teacher. She’d discreetly discount bouquets for elderly women who carried worn purses and counted out each penny. More often than not, Daryl yelled at her when he did her books. “You’re awfully softhearted for a cop,” she murmured, carried away by memories.

“Cops are no more alike than…say, waitresses.”

“Touché.” Gillian sighed, afraid she was enjoying the feel of his chin pressing down on her head a little too much. “The horses are gone. So is the hawk. What are we looking at now?”

“Whatever’s out there.” He swayed her gently from side to side. “I just like holding you.” He blew softly on a curl that framed her ear. “You cut your hair. It’s sexy this way.”

She stirred. “Mitch…” Gillian felt him nibble at her ear. His warm breath tickled her, and she ducked her head to her shoulder. He simply moved his lips to the other side of her neck.

Alarm coiled in her stomach when he began to press openmouthed kisses from the hollow under her ear to her collarbone. It wound tighter as he nuzzled her T-shirt out of the way. Shortly, though, alarm changed to languid pleasure. Gillian felt her body go limp—warmed by the afternoon sun and made weightless by Mitch’s onslaught. Her nerves hummed along with the soft sounds—the whicker of the horses, the melodic call of birds flitting among the trees. The buzz of honey bees and the laughing rush of water from a nearby stream.

The stream.
She’d forgotten Mitch said they’d picnic beside a stream. “Listen,” she begged, sounding breathless. “Do you hear the water?”

He raised his head fractionally. “Yeah.” He sighed. “I guess we’d better take the horses to the creek and let them drink. I usually do that first thing. Shows how you scramble my brains.”

“Not on purpose.”

“No? I suppose not. Am I moving too fast?”

She slipped out of his arms. “Any movement along those lines is too fast for me, I’m afraid. And yet…”

“Finish,” he urged, halting his progress toward the horses to stare at her earnestly.

Gillian linked her hands behind her back while she studied the trees, the horses and finally, the seamless blue sky. “You…uh…scramble my brains, too.”

Mitch wished she hadn’t sounded quite so reluctant. Not knowing what he needed to do to convince her he wasn’t an ax murderer, he gathered both sets of reins and let Gilly think he was satisfied with her response.

After seeing to the comfort of their horses, he spread out a blanket that had been rolled up behind his saddle. Sinking down on it, he chewed a piece of grass, giving Gilly time to exclaim over the beauty of the mountain stream. He waited until they’d unpacked the sandwiches and apples from his saddlebags, and she’d joined him on the blanket before he switched into investigative mode. “Tell me about your ex-husband,” he asked, springing the question on her out of the blue.

Gillian had just bitten into a chicken-salad sandwich. The bread and filling went neither up nor down, but stuck in her throat, making her cough. “There’s nothing to tell,” she finally squeaked. “We were divorced this past May, but the marriage disintegrated long before we took legal steps. He’s since…died,” she managed to add without sounding too shaky.

“Rough, huh? Is that why you pulled up stakes and lit out for parts unknown?”

Gillian had known, of course, that this type of questioning could come from allowing him to get too close. She ought to have been better prepared. But she wasn’t prepared at all.

“Daryl’s death played a role in my…change of locale. Look, I’d rather not talk about any of this if you don’t mind.”

“Hoo…kay. Tell me about when you were a little girl, then.” Mitch ran the tuft end of his grass down her nose. “Did you have freckles and long red curls?”

Again Gillian’s throat tightened. Mitch appeared to have a one-track mind. She thought it was obvious that red wasn’t her natural hair color. “I was homely. I had skinny arms and legs and knobby knees, okay? Little boys like you avoided me as though I were contagious.”

“Hmm. You know what I was like as a boy?”

She decided it was time to throw back some of the baloney he was dishing out. “I’d guess you were a smaller version of the audacious, handsome devil you are today.”

Mitch tipped back his head and laughed. “A devil, anyway. It’s a cinch you don’t know about the horrible tricks I played on my piano teacher.”

“You play the piano?” Gillian’s tone accused him of fibbing.

“No.” He shook his head, apparently trying to appear remorseful; if so, he failed. “I wanted to play drums in the worst way. My parents wouldn’t hear of it. In their circle of Wall Street friends, kids played piano. I hated to practice scales, so I pulled evil pranks on the teacher until he quit. He passed the word in the music community. My mother couldn’t find another teacher who’d take me on as a pupil.”

“I wish I’d known you when I took ballet. My mom was convinced lessons would help me get over being awkward and shy. Having to perform onstage only made my insecurity worse. I swore I’d never force kids of mine to do anything they weren’t comfortable doing. And I won’t.”

“Same here. Then you do want kids? When we were at Ethan’s, I couldn’t decide how you felt about babies.”

“You certainly handled diapers like a pro.” Gillian thought if she could turn the conversation away from her and back to him, there’d be less danger of cracking her fragile network of lies and half truths.

Mitch polished off half a sandwich, then unscrewed the tops of two bottles of water he’d brought. He handed her one, then took a swig himself before settling a shoulder against the same tree trunk Gillian leaned on. He began a pared-down version of his sojourn at Ethan’s home. “I might have drifted into feeling sorry for myself after my accident if not for the quadruplets. Compared to the trauma of abuse they suffered, my aches and pains seemed insignificant.”

“Flo said you had three bullets in you. That’s hardly insignificant. You have a right to the occasional bout of self-pity. Especially since you had to give up a job you loved.”

“I could have stayed on the force at a desk job. I decided to quit, instead. Anyway, we weren’t discussing me, Gilly. The point I’m making is that spending a couple of months around Regan and the babies changed my thinking a lot.”

“How so?”

He hiked a shoulder negligently and recapped his water. “I’ve learned what’s important.” Sliding down to rest his head on Gillian’s lap, he laced his hands over his chest and closed his eyes. “Now, this is my idea of the good life.”

Gillian tensed the minute his head touched her thighs. Relaxing minimally, she fought an urge to rearrange the dark curls that dipped over his eyebrow.

Opening one eye, Mitch squinted at her. “You make a perfect pillow. But there’s room on the blanket if you’d care to join me for a nap. We’ve both worked like fiends
all week. I think we deserve to squander some time resting, don’t you?”

The rock-solidness of the man, combined with the music of water skipping over rocks and the dance of warm sunlight filtering through tree branches—they all served to tempt Gillian. Maybe if she pretended everything was fine, it would be…

Uttering a soft sigh, she eased out from under his head, scooted down alongside him and rested her cheek in the crook of her arm. “There’s a safe feeling to this place, Mitch. I wish I could stay here forever.”

Raising himself on one elbow, he let his gaze roam leisurely over her flushed face, the enticing curve of her breast, the gentle swell of her hip. Something wound tight in his belly at the forlorn tone of her voice, and he felt a resounding need to keep her safe. From what, he didn’t know; in fact, Mitch couldn’t even venture a guess. While he judged her far from helpless, he sensed that her nerves were strung tight with fear.

His original plan hadn’t included a nap under the shade of the old mesquite. Inexplicably snared by the picture Gilly presented, Mitch lay down and ran a finger over her nose and cheek, trying to capture her interest. The minute her eyes popped open and he was sure she understood his intent, he kissed her. Kissing was his only goal until her fingers brushed the hair at his temples and then whispered along his neck.

His breathing thickened, as did Gillian’s. Soon he felt the sweep of her tongue demanding entrance. The noisy acceptance exploding from his throat drowned out the rustle of their clothing as they both fumbled with buttons in a desperate need to touch skin.

She murmured. Not a protest, he hoped. He was pretty
sure it wasn’t when she unbuckled his belt, all the while struggling to discard her shirt.

“Uh, wait a sec.” He reached for his billfold and finally extracted a small dog-eared packet. “Dang, this is pretty old.”

Gillian examined it. “The wrapper’s mooshed, but still intact. It’s probably all right.”

“Yeah.” He tore away the foil, and handed it to her. She began to slide it on. He distracted her, though, with kisses. Then, when he felt his tension build to unbelievable heights, he helped her finish the job.

Gillian let the passion of the moment carry her beyond the niggling voice that asked what in heaven’s name she was doing. Too many lies and half truths lay between her and Mitch. She shouldn’t proceed. But it’d been years since she’d felt a tenth this alive. Years since she’d been swept away by sensations. Of sun on her face, the rush of wind against her bare flesh. Of strong arms holding her gently—promising to keep her safe from harm. Desire welled into insurmountable yearnings as he eased on top of her and urged her to hold him close. She wanted him, and opened for him without hesitation.

He filled her, easily, deliciously, completely.

Trembling, Gilly wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and chanted his name like a mantra.

Any doubts lingering in the back of Mitch’s brain evaporated in that instant.

He gathered her against his chest. His heart. As close as one human being could be to another. The throbbing pain in his side vanished as all thoughts dissolved except one. To make this the best ride of Gillian’s life. Of
his
life. He gave all he had, until he was lost in her. Until he couldn’t distinguish a difference where he ended and she began. Until they were completely lost in each other.

She shattered around him. Felt pieces of her heart and soul break loose. And imagined a warm healing light raining down on them as Mitch exploded within her a pulsing second later.

They lay joined without stirring for quite some time. When at last Mitch started to lift himself off her, Gillian tightened her arms around his waist. “Please. Not yet. Don’t let reality intrude.” She felt a sense of contentment she was reluctant to give up so soon.

He remained arched above her, staring at her tightly closed eyes. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Happy and relaxed, Mitch waited, holding his breath, wishing she’d smile. Wishing she’d admit
this
was reality.

Her eyelids fluttered open at last, but there was no lightness in her gaze.

“Tell me that what’s going on behind your eyes isn’t regret.”

Gilly ran her fingers up the smooth surface of his back and down again, touching each of his bony vertebrae. “Not regret. But…”

“Good. No buts. It was meant to happen,” he said softly, rolling off her at great expense to his injured hip. “Damn. I knew that condom was old. Gilly, I’m sorry—it split.”

“When?”

“Maybe now as I tried to protect my sore hip.” He pulled her into his arms, whispering her name as his lips tugged softly on her ear.

Plenty of objections, reasons they shouldn’t have gotten so carried away, beat against Gillian’s mind. She figured that by the time she got back to town, she’d carry guilt enough for both of them. Right now, she preferred to pretend that neither one of them had any cause for regret. Here, in Mitch Valetti’s arms, the world as she
knew it to be, filled with danger and risk and death, had ceased to exist. “It’s probably okay, Mitch. My, uh, periods have been hit-and-miss for a while. Let’s forget it, okay?” She cuddled into his warmth.

Yet no matter how hard Gillian tried to banish reality, clouds eventually drifted over the sun and kicked up a chill wind, which forced her and Mitch to part and seek out their scattered clothing.

She turned her back on him, huddling into herself while she slipped into her underwear. She knew her shyness was absurd—hadn’t they already explored every inch of one another? But she couldn’t help it.

At ease with his own body in the aftermath of sex, Mitch stretched and took his time finding his briefs.