Saddle Up(53)

“No, it didn’t. I’ve tried to make amends for my mistakes. I cut all ties to my old life. I even cut my hair as an open act of contrition, but my sacrifices have all been in vain.”

“What do you mean you cut your hair? I don’t understand the connection.”

“In my culture, a man’s hair is a source of personal pride. Cutting it is often an act of penance or an expression of profound grief. For me, it was both, but the elders don’t easily forgive or forget.”

“What about the horse?” she asked.

“Let’s just say my grandfather found my gift as lacking as he still finds me.”

“I’m so sorry, Keith. I know that must really hurt.”

He looked away with a shrug. “I screwed up. I have to accept the consequences.”

“Maybe in time…”

His grip tightened on the wheel. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Taking his cue, she quickly changed the subject. “You really surprised me, showing up like you did. I still can’t believe you came all the way up here. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I didn’t think so either,” he replied. “But I’ve thought about you, Aiwattsi. Every day. I missed you, but there just didn’t seem any point in pursuing it, given the distance.”

“Then what changed your mind?”

“You came out here and changed everything. The distance has lessened.”

“Yes.” She leaned toward him. “Less distance is always good.”

He glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure they were out of view from the house, and then put the truck in park. He reached for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “I have responsibilities I can’t shirk, but I couldn’t wait to see you…to be with you.”

“Me too,” she whispered back.

He didn’t need any further invitation. He cupped her face, kissing her slowly, lips gently brushing, then hungrily melding. Their tongues tangled. His heart hammered and pulse roared. One kiss had his body almost trembling with want. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized just how much he needed this. Needed her. Soon, he reminded himself.

“Keith?” Desire had darkened her eyes to the color of slate. “Did you really mean what you said about getting separate rooms?”

He ran a thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “I said we could get separate rooms. I never promised we would.”





Chapter 19


Miranda felt like she’d crawl out of her skin with anticipation as the truck slowly ate up the miles of highway between Montana and Utah. For the past two hours they’d stolen sidelong glances, both outwardly ignoring the sexual tension that electrified the air. They’d carried on sporadic spurts of small talk, while under it all every muscle felt tight and every nerve ending twitchy.

Casting another covert glance, she studied his profile, the high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, strong, masculine nose, and full, sensuous mouth, fixing on the last. Her insides quivering at the thought of those soft and knowing lips, on how he’d used his mouth on her body, on her sex. From the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, she was hyperaware of him.

“Don’t you get lonely, driving as much as you do?” she asked, breaking another long silence.

“Sometimes,” he said. “But I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve been traveling for a long time. Off and on for eight years.”

“I wouldn’t think the time would make it any easier. Does it?”

“No. Not really,” he confessed.

“Then why did you do it for so long?” she asked. “Did you really like it so much? Traveling all the time?”

“I did in the beginning. I was restless. I loved the freedom of a life on the road. I could do whatever I pleased, and I did. I got to see new places and meet lots of different people, but I soon got caught up in chasing things I thought I wanted—selfish things, material things—everything I was raised to despise. It was a real ego trip in the beginning, especially after my YouTube videos went viral, but I later came to see that I’d created an empty illusion. It was all about my persona, it wasn’t really me. They didn’t even know me.”

“But was it really their fault?” she asked. “I mean, how could it be? When you aren’t yourself, how can people ever get to know the real you? We see only what others allow us to see. We touch only the parts they allow us to touch.” And she ached to touch him now.

He caught her gaze and held it, his mouth curving smugly at the corners, as if reading her lust-filled thoughts. “Soon.” He tore his eyes away, murmuring the single syllable almost to himself.

“Soon?” she inquired softly.

“When we arrive,” he answered. “I thought we’d overnight in Provo. It’s only an hour from Gunnison. We can stay there tonight and pick up the horses in the morning.”

She shivered at the thought of another entire night alone with him.

“Do you always stay in motels when you’re on the road?” she asked.

“Not always,” he replied. “It all depends on where I am and the weather conditions. Sometimes I camp out in the truck bed. I keep an air mattress under the seat, just in case the mood strikes me. I prefer sleeping under the stars.”