Nobody was going to find her on this road. All she could do was wait here until the storm passed and limp her way back to town. With luck, the horse would find its way home. The neighbors would know she was missing and send out searchers. But she couldn’t count on that.
Nor could she count on Logan. She’d made it clear that Logan wasn’t to follow her. He was a proud man, and stubborn—not a man to come riding after her, begging her forgiveness.
She could be proud and stubborn, too. Her words had closed a door between them. Now it was her turn to pay the price.
* * *
Logan had ridden less than a mile before he was swallowed by the storm. He stopped long enough to tie a protective blindfold over the horse’s eyes and cover his own nose and mouth with a bandanna. Kristin would have no such protection, he reminded himself as he urged the horse forward, guiding it with the reins. The well-trained animal responded to his touch, moving ahead with steadiness and trust.
With dust blocking the sky and filling the air, Logan could barely see ten feet in any direction. He had little choice except to follow the wagon road and hope for the best. If Kristin’s borrowed horse had carried her off in some other direction, then Lord help them both. He would have no way to find her. Logan had never been a religious man, but he said a silent prayer as the storm howled around him. If he found her safe, he would never let her leave him in anger again.
By the time he saw her, almost hidden by blowing dust, he had all but given up hope. She was huddled in the hollow of the road, her body curled like a sleeping child’s, her head protected by her hands. She was coated with dust.
He swung off the horse and knelt beside her. For one shattering moment he feared she might be dead. But when he touched her shoulder, she moaned and stirred. Breathing silent thanks, he pulled her up and gathered her into his arms.
She clung to him, her body shaking as he cradled her close. At first neither of them spoke. Some emotions were too strong for words. But at last Logan found his voice.
“I’ve got a blanket. We can wait out the storm here, or I can try to get you home.”
She answered in a hoarse whisper. “Home.”
By now the dust was thinning as the storm moved eastward. Overhead, the night sky was dark, with a few emerging stars. Logan gave her some water from the canteen, wrapped her in the blanket, and helped her into the saddle. After removing the horse’s blindfold, he mounted behind the cantle and reached past her to take the reins. Now that he could see farther, he recognized where they were. Blue Moon was about three miles from here. With the horse weary from battling the wind, he would take the distance at an easy pace.
Leaning forward, he kissed the back of her neck. She responded with a soft murmur. Apologies, he knew, would be a waste of words. And there was no longer any need.
* * *
Blue Moon lay silent under a clear night sky, the streets, trees, and buildings coated with dust from the passing storm. Logan took the horse around to the back of the house. To Kristin’s relief, the roan gelding, still wearing its saddle, was standing outside the gate to the neighbors’ corral.
Logan helped her to the ground. “Go on inside,” he said. “I’ll take care of the horses—and I’ll bring in your boot.”
“I’ll leave the back door unlocked,” she said. Would he take it as an invitation?
The tightly closed house was free of dust inside. In the bathroom, Kristin stripped off her clothes, brushed out her hair, and ran a warm bath in the tub. Her sore muscles ached, and there were long, red scratches on her hands and arms from being dragged behind the horse. But the bath felt like heaven. She soaped her hair and lay back in the water to rinse it. When she sat up, Logan was standing in the open doorway with a mischievous smile on his face. “Too bad you don’t have a bigger tub,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind joining you. And yes, I locked the back door when I came in.”
“I can save you the water. But I’ve washed off a lot of dust in it. Or if you want, I could run you some more, but it might not be warm.”
“It’s probably better than the tin washtub with the dipper I use at home. But never mind, I need to get back to the ranch. I was planning to tuck you into bed and leave. But I might be talked into staying a little longer.”
He was trying to keep things light, making it easy for her to send him away. But Kristin could see the raw hunger in his eyes. He needed her. They needed each other.
“I could use a good back scrub if you’ve got time,” she said.
“I can make time.” He rolled up his sleeves, walked to the tub, and stood looking down at her. Her nipples seemed to shrink under his gaze. She felt the stirrings of arousal.
“Lord, but you’re beautiful.” His voice was thick and husky. Heart pounding, she smiled and handed him the bar of lavender soap.
“It smells good, like you.” He took a seat on the edge of the tub, lathered his hands, and slid them down her bare back. His masculine touch—the fingers strong, the palms big and rough and calloused—awakened whorls of need, setting off a pulsing in the depths of her body.
“Is that enough?” he muttered.
“Almost.” Taking one hand, she guided it around to her breast. His other hand needed no urging. She lay back, eyes closed, lips parting in unspeakable pleasure as his soap-slicked hands cupped and caressed her tender flesh. When one hand slid down her belly, then lower to stroke between her parted legs, her womb clenched like a fist. She shuddered, whimpering as the climax rippled through her.
He gave her a knowing look. “I think we need to get you out of this tub.” He offered a hand to help her up.
While she dried herself with a towel, he shed his clothes in the hall. Seen through the open doorway, he had a warrior’s body, scarred with battle wounds. His left leg, below the knee, was mostly bone and scar tissue. Kristin gave silent thanks to the surgeon who’d had the skill and compassion to save it. Seeing her man naked and vulnerable, she experienced an overwhelming surge of love. She wanted to touch each scar, kiss it, hear its story and how it became part of him. But that could wait. Right now all she wanted was for Logan to make love to her.
Dropping her towel on the bedroom rug, she slipped into bed, turned down the covers on the near side, and held out her arms. He came to her, aroused and ready. Her body welcomed him, opened to him, and took him inside her, deep and hard. It was as if she’d wanted him there all her life. Him and only him.
“I feel like I’ve just come home,” he whispered.
“You are home.” She arched her hips, feeling him move inside her as she met each thrust. The stars seemed to spin as their climax mounted. They shattered together and lay still. Even then they held each other close, savoring the few precious moments before the world closed around them.
* * *
Logan stayed until she fell asleep in his arms. Then he eased away from her, dressed in the other room, and left by the back door. He’d watered his horse and left it to rest. Now it stood waiting, tethered inside the back gate.
It had taken all his strength of will to leave Kristin, but it wouldn’t do for him to be seen at her house. And he needed to get back to the ranch. There could be damage from the storm; and with Webb on the warpath, anything could happen.
The sky was dark, the town still silent as he took the wagon road across the prairie. The air smelled and tasted of dust, but the storm, thank heaven, was over. It had probably blown itself out against the mountains. But if rain didn’t come, there were bound to be more storms like it.