Frantic for the feel of her bare skin, he stripped her clothes off, barely getting his own pants undone before he lifted her, held her, then plunged into her welcoming depths.
That was all it took. Tate’s head went back, his eyes squeezed shut, teeth tightly clenched as his body arched and flew into a million pieces. Trembling in reaction, his tightened muscles went limp, his hands still moving over Abby’s bare back.
Suddenly she started shaking, and Tate opened his eyes in concern. She was laughing! A smile turned up the corners of his lips. “What’s so funny?”
“Tate,” she sputtered. “We’re in a mud hole!”
His grin widened. “You know, it’s always been one of my fantasies to make love in the mud.” He looked at her speculatively. “There’s only one thing wrong.”
“What’s that?”
“In my fantasies, I was always on top.” He twisted rapidly, pinning her arms above her head, and began to move slowly inside her. “Much better,” he whispered against her lips. “Do you know how much I love to hear you scream when you climax? To know I’m the one who makes you feel that way? It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.” His movements increased as her eyes closed and a soft whimper sounded deep in her throat.
“Tate,” she moaned. “That feels so good.”
“No,” he murmured. “It’s better than good. No one has ever made me feel the way you do.” His tongue flicked a nipple as he drove into her. “Scream for me, Abby. I need to hear you scream.”
She complied. With her body convulsing around him and the music of her climax in his ears, Tate let his own control slip a second time. With her name on his lips, he followed her into oblivion.
* * * * *
Abby leaned back against Tate as his arms circled her, his hands sliding up under her blouse to her breasts. “If you don’t stop that, I’m never going to get supper ready.”
“Some things are just more important than food.” He continued to caress her. “You know, I think they’re getting bigger.”
Abby grinned. “I sure hope so. I get tired of people thinking I’m a boy.”
His lips trailed down her neck. “Oh, believe me. There’s nothing about you that even faintly resembles a boy.” He lifted his head. “Wonder if Buddy would think it was strange if I kept a mud hole handy in the back yard?”
She looked at him wryly. “I don’t know about Buddy, but even after a shower, I’m still picking dirt out of places I don’t want to think about.”
Tate laughed and let go of her. “I’ll help you find it all later.”
Buddy clattered down the stairs and stopped in the kitchen door. “Don’t fix any supper for me, Abby.”
Tate arched an eyebrow. “You going out again?”
“You don’t have to sound so hopeful, Tate. I’ve only been home thirty minutes.” The teenager grinned at him.
“Where are you going?” Tate turned a chair around and straddled it, propping his arms across the back.
Abby’s gaze ran up his long legs to his narrow hips, then on up to his broad shoulders. The position he was in had his clothes pulled tight enough to expose every muscle. Lord, but the man was built. All she had to do was look at him and heat washed through her, no matter how often they made love.
“I’ve got a date.” Buddy cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into extending curfew a little, could I?”
“So you can go to the Point and park?”
“Aw, geesh, Tate. Come on.” His face was tinted bright red.
“One hour. Not a minute longer.”
“Thanks, Tate!”
As soon as the teenager left, Abby grinned at Tate. “You did that on purpose.”
He leered at her. “Damn right I did. One more hour alone. You know what I can accomplish in an hour?”
“I can’t wait to find out.”
* * * * *
He could accomplish a lot, Abby discovered. Repeatedly and in quite a few rooms. His imagination knew no bounds. She was still turning red thinking about what he’d done to her in the kitchen. And on the counter, no less. She’d never look at that countertop the same again.
At the moment, they were stretched out side by side on the couch, bodies comfortingly pressed together. She felt so safe with his arms around her. Unwilling to break the quiet, Abby curled a strand of his hair around her finger, admiring the shiny black luster as much as the sensual feel of it.
“Buddy will be home soon.”
“I know,” she murmured.
“We should probably get up.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I hate to move.”
Abby sighed. “So do I, but I guess we’d better.” She rolled away from him and stood, pausing a moment to survey his nude body. Suddenly she smiled and leaned down to poke one finger into his thigh.
“I was right.”
Tate was looking at her in puzzlement. “About what?”
“You know the first day I was here and we went to get my things? During the whole trip I kept wondering if your thighs were as hard as they looked.”
He laughed. “I can top that one. Do you remember my reaction when I saw your sheets?”
Abby felt heat creep up her cheeks. “Yes. It upset you.”
“Upset me, hell. I had to run to keep from dragging you into that bed.” He drew a finger slowly down her stomach. “I wanted you so much it was about to kill me.”
“You were certainly doing a good job of hiding it.”
His grin turned wicked. “Why do you think I grabbed that box of clothes so fast? I needed it to conceal the evidence.”
“So why did you wait as long as you did?” Abby’s curiosity rose to the surface.
Tate shrugged. “We were practically strangers then. I had no idea how you’d react. Did you want me to try?”
She thought about it for a minute. “I don’t think it even occurred to me you might want to. And if it had, I never would have believed it.”
She leaned down and picked her clothes up just as the phone rang. Frowning, she glanced at the clock. It was after midnight. “I’ll get it.”
Tate’s gaze followed her, moving over every inch of her as she walked, stirring up feelings she would have sworn he’d exhausted this evening.
“Hello?”
Dead silence answered her from the end of the line. “Hello?” There was a loud click, then the buzz of a dial tone.
She put the phone back in its cradle, still frowning.
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. Just another hang-up.” She reached for the rest of the clothes.
“Another? Have there been a lot of them?” A deaf man could have heard the sudden tension in his voice.
“One or two a week.”
“Maybe you should let me answer the phone for a while.”
Anger blind-sided her. She spun, grabbed the phone and slammed it down on his chest, cord trailing across the room. “I can do better than that, Tate. Why don’t you just call her back? That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”
“Abby—”
Whatever he had to say, she didn’t want to hear it. She flew up the stairs into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her with every ounce of strength in her body.
* * * * *
Tate rubbed his eyes with one hand. Was he so transparent that Abby knew what he was thinking even before he did? He lowered his hand and stared at the phone. There was no doubt in his mind that Diane was the one who’d been calling. The problem was, what was he going to do about it?
He returned the phone to its stand, then pulled on his jeans, his feet instinctively steering him outside as soon as he was dressed.
The heavy scent of the honeysuckle his mother had planted years ago drenched the warm summer air with perfume as he pushed open the gate to the cemetery. When it squeaked, he frowned. He never had gotten around to oiling it and that wasn’t like him. He’d do it first thing in the morning, he decided.
The moon was out, big an
d full, without a cloud in the sky to obscure its beams. Lightening bugs drifted among the headstones, blinking gracefully out of his way as he moved by them.
For a while, he stood silent beside his father’s grave, one hand caressing the granite marker. “I wish you were here tonight, Daddy.” His voice was as quiet as the night around him. “I don’t know what’s happening to me anymore. I’m trying to be the man you taught me to be, I really am. It used to be so easy. All I had to do was live up to my responsibilities and everything was fine.”
Tate ran one hand through his hair wearily. “Why didn’t you ever tell me how hard it could be, Daddy? I’m worried about Diane. She never would have married Clayton if it weren’t for me. If anything happens to her it will be my fault.” He turned in agitation and stared across the moonlit land. “If I saw a man beating a horse, I’d have to stop him, wouldn’t I? How can I stand by and let the same thing happen to Diane? But things have changed with Abby since the last time I was here. She’s not a stranger anymore, Daddy, she’s my wife. She’s carrying my baby.”
A low, desperate laugh bubbled in the back of his throat. “God help me, I can’t keep my hands off of her. I’ve never known anyone like Abby before. She’s like an addiction that I can’t shake and I don’t even want to try.”
He looked back down at the grave. “If I try to help Diane it’s going to hurt Abby and, God knows, she’s been hurt enough in her life. She deserves better than that from me, and has a right to expect it. But I can’t take the chance that Clayton might hurt Diane either.”
The anger that had been building inside him suddenly exploded. “So tell me what to do, Daddy. You were the one with all the answers. What the hell do I do now?” A pair of whippoorwills erupted into the air at the harsh tone of his raised voice, the whir of their wings fading into the distance as silence settled over the cemetery again.
* * * * *
Tate slipped through the dark house and up the stairs, pausing for an instant outside the bedroom door. He’d never really seen Abby mad before, and wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome or not. Steeling his nerves, he stepped inside.
As usual, Abby had the windows open, but there was little breeze to stir them. He could just make out the small, sheet-covered lump in the bed. She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge his presence, and yet he knew somehow that she wasn’t asleep.
Gingerly, he sat on the side of the bed, turned so he could see her. “Abby?” His voice was soft and sounded as uncertain as he was feeling. It took him completely by surprise when she moved, throwing herself into his arms.
“Oh, Tate, I’m sorry,” she whispered into his neck. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad. It’s not your fault if she calls here, and you have every right to talk to her if she does. It just scares me because I know how much you gave up to marry me when you didn’t have to.”
He ran his hands over the smooth bare skin of her back, marveling at the feel of her body pressed so tightly to his. “Abby, sweetheart,” he crooned, rocking her. “You don’t have to be scared. Look how much I gained when we got married. I got you and our baby. Not to mention the best cook and housekeeper in the state of Texas.” His laugh was husky, his body already reacting to her touch, her scent.
God, how he wanted her. Never, in the whole time he’d known her, had Diane ever had this effect on him. He had to force himself to concentrate just to tell Abby what he needed her to know.
He slid his hands down, letting them rest on the gentle curve of her hips. “Maybe you were right to get mad, Abby. I knew when we got married that it was over with Diane. I still do. But what matters is that you know it, too. You have to trust me, sweetheart. I won’t ever leave you and our baby.”
She leaned back and cupped her hands around his face, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones, his lips and his chin. “I do trust you, Tate. I know you won’t leave us. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.”
“What do you mean?” He frowned at her words. There was something in them that bothered him, but he couldn’t quite pin it down.
“Nothing.” She’d moved her hands down, through the unbuttoned shirt to his chest. When her head lifted, he saw the glint of moonlight in her moisture-filled eyes. “Love me, Tate,” she whispered. “I need you to hold me and never let go.”
Chapter Twenty
“Dandy?” Tate arched an eyebrow at her.
“Yes.” Abby was still watching the colt as he danced around Sugar Baby, playing peek-a-boo with her and Tate, his curiosity at war with his shyness. The mare continued to graze but kept a watchful eye on her offspring. “The first time Joe saw him he said, ‘now that one is going to be a real dandy.’” She smiled. “I think it’s a perfect name for him.”
He was studying the colt again. “It does seem to suit him. Okay, Dandy it is. First one born, last one named.”
The pasture was full of mares with their new colts and Abby had been given the honor of naming them all. She’d taken the job seriously, taking days to choose just the right name for each foal.
Dog raced ahead of them as they turned toward the creek. “Are you sure you don’t want to take your fishing gear?” Abby glanced at Tate. He had one hand at her waist in a protective gesture as they walked. After their fight last night, if it could even be called a fight, she didn’t want to compound the problem by keeping him from his usual Sunday activity.
Once again it occurred to her that she’d never seen Tate mad. He never raised his voice, even when he was arguing with Buddy over homework. The closest he’d come in her presence was the day he hit Joe. He must have been mad that day, but his voice had never wavered from its normal volume. If anything, it had gotten lower.
“I’m sure.” He pointed a little to the left of the usual path. “Let’s go this way. There’s a spot I want to show you.”
“Your fishing spot?”
“No. I don’t come here much anymore. Not to this particular place.”
His voice was pensive, almost sad. But then, they’d both been in a strange mood since last night. Tate was quieter than normal and there was no teasing, no laughter. Every time he came close to her, he touched her, couldn’t seem to stop. Nothing major, just the brush of his fingers on her arm or his hand running over her hair. If she weren’t so hypersensitive to his attitude, she might not have noticed it.
“This is it.” He pushed through the trees, holding the branches out of the way for her.
Abby stopped and gazed around her in awe. To their right, the fast moving creek narrowed into a series of small waterfalls that spilled into a wide, deep pool. Past the point where the falls emptied, the water was still, its surface unruffled, and so clear the rays of sunlight reached all the way to the bottom.
The banks were grassy with large boulders scattered here and there like granite seats offered up for an unknown audience. The branches of ancient willow trees skimmed the water, creating a shelter from the hot sun beneath their leafy cover. At the edge of what must have been the deepest part of the pool were the rotting remains of a small dock, its boards half torn away.
“Tate, it’s beautiful.”
He nodded. “I learned how to swim here before I was five. My great-grandfather planted those willows.” Shunning the boulders, he lowered himself to the grass then tugged her hand until she was sitting with him. He put his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest, his chin resting on top of her head.
“My grandfather used to bring me here. At the time, I thought there couldn’t be a more wonderful place anywhere than this one. Or a man any more wonderful than my grandfather. He’s the one who taught me to swim and he built that dock just for me, so I could jump off of it, into the water.”
He was silent for so long that Abby thought he wasn’t going to continue. When he did, his voice had softened and she had the impression he had forgotten she was there.
“He loved to fish. Almost as much as he loved me. He’d bring me with him and let me swim and play in the pool while he fished. He never caught anythi
ng those times but it didn’t matter to him. Grandpa was the type of person who loved to laugh. Life was just one big box of candy to him, one he dove into it with both hands. Nothing was serious enough to make him worry.”
“He sounds like the perfect grandfather. You must have loved him a lot.”
“I did. My father used to tell me I was just like him.”
“Are you?” A stray breeze off the water ruffled her hair and she pushed it back away from her face.
“No.” His tone was clipped and she felt the sudden tightening of his muscles. “I’m not like him. I’m nothing like him.”
She tilted her head up to better see his face. His crystal eyes had gone hard and cold, focused on something only he could see. His jaw clenched and released erratically.
“Tate?” She ran her hand down his arm in a soothing motion. “What happened?”
He took a deep shaky breath. “One day I was out in the barn, hiding in the hayloft so Mom wouldn’t make me go visiting with her. Grandpa and my dad came in and they were fighting. They didn’t know I was there. My father blamed my grandfather for not having enough backbone to take care of his family. He said that because of my grandfather, they’d almost lost the ranch. He even blamed him because my grandmother died so young. Dad said the work and worry killed her. It was a bitter argument and, to this day, I remember every word.”
“You shouldn’t have had to hear that, Tate.” She kept her tone quiet. “What did your grandfather do?”
“Nothing. He stood there and listened, then he got his fishing gear and left. It was the last time I saw him. That night he had a stroke. He died two days later in the hospital.”
Tate looked down at her, his gaze softening. “I’ve never told anyone about that before. Not even Buddy. I haven’t even thought about it in years. I don’t know why I did now.”
“I’m glad you told me.” It explained so much, about Tate and his father both. Why his father was obsessed with responsibility and why Tate was determined to live up to his father’s ideals. “But maybe there were circumstances you didn’t know about. There are two sides to every story, Tate. You never got a chance to hear your grandfather’s.”