the saloon out of habit, not because he remembered the place where he’d had his last drink with any particular fondness. All those years ago, knowing full well he might die, he’d tossed back one last shot of good whiskey, kissed Tennessee Sue full on the mouth and walked out the door.
Nope, he didn’t have any good memories of this place, even back when it was in its heyday. But thanks to what he was witnessing at the moment, old Bert’s saloon had just become Wyatt’s favorite place in the whole damn world.
With the thunder crackling overhead, the woman had bolted through the doors, already stripping off her flannel shirt. Thanks to the rain, the white shirt underneath stuck to her like a second skin, outlining her curves in considerable detail. One thing for sure, Rayanne was a damn sight more appealing than Tennessee Sue had been.
It would’ve taken a lot nobler man than Wyatt to look away, especially when he realized Rayanne wasn’t wearing anything underneath the shirt. Her plentiful breasts swayed gently with each move she made, their dark tips faintly visible through the clingy cloth.
What he wouldn’t give to test their weight with the palms of his hands. And damned if she wasn’t reaching for the hem of that shirt, too. Surely she wasn’t going to— No, she stopped and looked around suspiciously.
Had she sensed his presence? He wasn’t visible; he knew that much. But even her late uncle had an uncanny knack for realizing when Wyatt came near. He’d nod in Wyatt’s direction and then go about his business. Maybe his niece had inherited the same talent.
But then she went ahead and stripped her shirt right off in front of him. The storm outside had nothing on the one raging inside him right now. He moaned. Her skin was all peaches and cream. He loved the sprinkle of freckles across her shoulders and the dusky peach of her nipples. He sure enough wanted to kiss those freckles and suckle her pert nipples and watch them pebble up. Hell, he just plain wanted.
Incredible. He hadn’t felt anything this powerful since the day he died. No hunger, no pain. Dread, yeah. Fear, even knowing how things would play out again. But no joy, no peace, no thirst, no hunger.
But by gosh, he hungered now. Unable to help himself, he drifted closer to where Rayanne stood, trying to squeeze some of the rainwater out of her clothes. If she didn’t cover herself soon, he wasn’t sure what would happen. In this state, his ability to interact with his surroundings was extremely limited. If he brushed against her bare skin, she might feel a chill or a buzz. He might not feel a damn thing.
If she was aware of him, he might have tried it. But a man didn’t sneak up on an unsuspecting female. He was no hero, but he had enough black marks on his soul. With that in mind, he needed to put more distance between himself and temptation before he weakened and reached out to her.
He directed his focus toward the back wall to give her a chance to cover herself decently. The white shirt still left too little to the imagination, but it was better than all that peach-toned skin screaming out to be tasted and touched. Once the storm passed, he was sure she’d make her way back to the cabin. Good. He wished she was already gone, back to where she belonged, preferably off his mountain.
Taking her peaches-and-cream complexion and all that temptation with her.
Frustration with the whole situation left him wanting to break something. But if he let his temper slip its leash, he’d do something stupid. Like materializing right here in Bert’s place to start breaking up the few pieces of furniture still left intact.
How would she react? She’d already fainted once at finding him in her kitchen. He bet she’d already twisted and turned the facts of yesterday morning to convince herself that she’d only imagined the whole incident. If for one second she’d believed he’d really been there, she wouldn’t still be up here on the mountain by herself. He tried to imagine her pelting down that switchback road back to wherever she came from. The picture wouldn’t come into focus.
Most folks would cower in a corner while nature raged outside. Instead, she’d dragged a chair right over to the window to watch. Even now, she sat forward, trying to see better through the filthy glass. She sure had gumption; he gave her that much.
If he’d been solid, he realized he would’ve been smiling. Even in his present state, he felt lighter, more buoyant. That realization scared him. He didn’t want to feel lighter, didn’t want to feel anything.
He needed to get out of there. There was plenty of energy to be had right outside the door. If he was careful, he could absorb enough to let him resume standing guard in the woods. The time was coming when others started prowling the mountain, gathering close. He’d need to make sure they kept their distance from the woman.
He wasn’t sure how much harm they could do, but they all grew stronger as the time grew near. He drifted closer again, this time feeling protective rather than lustful. He might not want her there, but neither did he want her hurt or scared.
Damn, why did she have to be there at all?
For now, she was safe enough. She could find her own way back to the cabin once the storm passed. Far better that their paths crossed as rarely as possible.
Better for him, anyway.
With that, he slipped through the doors and out into the street. The storm had weakened considerably already, the dark clouds having dumped most of their rain before moving on wherever the wind would carry them. The air felt clean as he drew on the natural energy it carried.
Slowly, he moved on out of town, growing more solid as he neared the timberline. By the time Rayanne followed him into the woods, he stood hidden in the shadows, solid from his hat to the soles of his boots.
The rain had brought out more curl in her hair, framing her pretty face and drawing attention to how young she was. But Rayanne moved with the kind of strength and purpose as another woman in his life had. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it sooner.
It wasn’t as if he could forget about Amanda, the one woman he’d tried to be a better man for. The one he died trying to protect and succeeded only in destroying them both. He’d always wondered if they would have gone beyond simple friendship if things had played out differently for the two of them. No way to know now.
He followed after Rayanne, preferring her unknowing company to the darkness of his memories. For a second, she hesitated, stopping to look around. She frowned and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, clearly feeling a chill. Whether it was from his presence or from the dampness of her clothes didn’t matter.
It was tempting to step out into a small circle of sun to see if she could see him at all and how she would react. But no, that wouldn’t be smart. Besides, it was too late now. She was already back in motion, quickening her pace now that the cabin was almost in sight. He didn’t blame her. Dark and dangerous things prowled these woods.
He should know. He was one of them.
Chapter 5
Rayanne was finished in the kitchen. Everything was stowed away, and she’d put a fresh shine on the counters, appliances and even the floor. She wasn’t ready to face the living room yet.
It had soaked up so much of Uncle Ray’s essence, for the lack of a better word. The wear on cushions of his favorite chair showed the outline of his body and carried the scent of his aftershave. The shelves lining the walls were filled with his favorite books, most dog-eared from multiple readings. Bits and pieces of the man, but not the whole.
She missed him so much. Had been missing him since long before he’d actually died.
No, she wasn’t ready to sort through all those memories. Not yet. Cowardly, maybe, but she couldn’t help but feel that she was intruding on Ray’s privacy. Instead, she’d get started on her work in Blessing. The day was sunny and clear, perfect for taking pictures.
She’d made a list of the things she’d need for her survey as well as the emergency supplies she wanted to stash inside the church. That would require a trip down to the small combination grocery store, gas station and post office