like.”
Studying her face, Dante found he liked the way she blushed so easily. “Have any coffee?”
“Sorry. I didn’t expect to have guests.”
“In that case, tea would be nice.” Dante glanced around the tiny confines of the trailer. “Aren’t you afraid to come out to places like this alone?”
Emma reached for two mugs from a cabinet. “Why should I be? It’s not like anyone else comes out here.”
“What if you were to get hurt?”
She shrugged. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“As close as it is to the border, you might be subject to more than just an elk hunter or farmer.”
“I have a gun.” Emma opened a drawer and pulled out a long, vintage revolver.
Dante grinned. “You call that a gun?”
She stiffened. “I certainly do.”
“It’s an antique.”
“A Colt .45 caliber, Single Action Army revolver, to be exact.”
Nodding, impressed, Dante stated, “You know the name of your antiques.”
Her chin tipped upward. “And I’m an expert shot.”
“My apologies for doubting you.”
The wind picked up outside, rocking the tiny trailer on its wheels.
Emma struck a long kitchen match on the side of a box and lit one of the two burners on the stove. A bright flame cast a rosy glow in the quickly darkening space. She filled a teakettle with water from a large water bottle and settled it over the flame. “I have canned chili, canned tuna and crackers. Again, I hadn’t planned on staying more than a couple of nights. I was supposed to head out before the weather laid in.”
Despite his injuries, Dante’s stomach grumbled. “I don’t want to take your food.”
She leveled her gaze at him. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t have enough.”
“Then, thank you.”
She opened two cans of chili and poured them into a pot, lit the other burner and settled the food over the flame.
Before long the teakettle steamed and the rich aroma of tomato sauce and chili powder filled the air. Emma moved with grace and efficiency, the gentle swell of her hips swaying from side to side as she moved between the sink and the stove. Dante’s groin tightened. Not that she was his typical type.
Emma appeared to be straitlaced and uptight with little time in her agenda for playing the field, as proved by their one date that had gone nowhere. Still, it didn’t give him the right to go after her again.
He shoved aside the blanket and tried to stand. “I should be helping you.” A chill hit him, penetrating his long underwear as if he wore nothing at all.
“Stay put.” She waved in his direction. “There’s little enough room in the trailer without two people bumping into each other. And I’ve got this covered.” She shed her jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall.
“I can at least get the plates and utensils down and set the table.” He glanced around. “Uh, where is the table?”
Emma grinned. “It’s under the bed. You were lying on it.”
He gave her a half bow. “Where do you propose we eat?”
“On the bed.” She grinned. “Picnic-style.”
“Do you always eat in the bed?” Images of the slightly stiff Emma wearing a baby-doll nightgown, sitting on the coverlet, eating chocolate-covered strawberries popped into Dante’s head. He tried but failed to banish the thought, his groin tightening even more. The slim professor with the chocolate-brown hair and eyes, and luscious lips tempted the saint right out of him. And the kicker was that she didn’t even know she was so very hot.
“I don’t usually have company in my trailer. I can eat wherever I want. In the summertime, I sit on a camp stool outside and watch the sun set over the dig.”
He could picture the brilliant red, orange and mauve skies tinting her hair. “I’ll consider it an adventure.” He reached around her and opened one of the overhead cabinet doors. “Where are the dishes and utensils?” As he leaned over her, the scent of roses tantalized his nostrils. Her hair shone in the light from the flame on the stove as much as he thought it might in the dying embers of a North Dakota sunset. Despite having shed her coat, the thick sweater, turtleneck and snow pants hid most of her shape. But he could remember it from the class he’d audited while attending the university in Grand Forks.
He tucked a hair behind her ear. “Why was it we only went out once?”
Her head dipped. “One has to ask for a second date.”
Dante gripped her shoulders gently and turned her slowly toward him. “I didn’t call, did I?” He stared down at her until she glanced up.
Her lips twisted. “It’s no big deal. We only went out for coffee.”
Dante swallowed hard. He remembered. It had been shortly before a particularly harsh bout of depression. One of his buddies from the army had been shot down in Afghanistan. He’d wondered if he’d stayed in the army if he could have changed the course of events, perhaps saved his friend or if he would have died in his place. Losing his fiancée and his friend so soon afterward made him question everything he’d thought he’d understood—his role in the war on terrorism, his patriotism and his faith in mankind. It had been all he could do to get out of bed each morning, go to work and fly the border missions.
“I’m sorry.” He brushed a thumb across her full lower lip and then bent to follow his thumb with his mouth. He’d only meant to kiss her softly, but once his lips touched hers, he couldn’t stop himself. A rush of hunger like he’d never known washed over him and before he realized it, he was crushing her mouth, his tongue darting out to take hers.
When he raised his head, he stared down at her through a haze of lust, wanting to drag her across the bed and strip her of every layer of clothing.
Her big brown eyes were wide, her lips swollen from his kiss and pink flags of color stained her cheeks.
Dante closed his eyes, forcing himself to be reasonable and controlled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I don’t—” she started.
The teakettle whistled.
Emma jerked around to the stove, one hand going to the handle of the kettle, the other to her lips.
Dante retrieved bowls from the cabinet and spoons from a drawer and stepped back, giving her as much space as the interior of the trailer would allow.
The wind churned outside, wailing against the flimsy outer walls, the cold seeping through.
As she poured the water into the mugs, Emma’s hand shook.
Kicking himself for his impulsive act, Dante vowed to keep his hands—and lips—to himself for the duration of their confinement in the tight space.
Since resigning his commission, Dante hadn’t considered himself fit for any relationship. He’d come back to North Dakota, hoping to reclaim the life he’d known growing up. But the transition from soldier to civilian had been anything but easy. Every loud noise made him duck, expecting incoming rounds from hidden enemies. Until today, it had only been noise. Today he’d been under attack and he hadn’t been prepared.
Emma dipped a tea bag in each mug until the water turned the desired shade. Then she pulled the bags out and set them in the tiny sink. “I’m sorry, I don’t have milk or lemon.” She held out a mug to him. “Sugar?”
The way her lips moved to say that one word had him ready to break his recent vow. “No,