By the time Libby walked out of the mercantile, she was carrying an armload of jeans, boots, shirts, Western tank tops, some pretty silver jewelry, and of course her Fujifilm Mini.
She set the bags down on the sidewalk and began to watch for Sam’s truck. Across the parking lot, she noticed Max and Vince’s blue Ford Fusion sitting in front of the gas pumps. Vince filled the tank while Max stood a few feet away, deep in conversation with a bearded man in jeans and a red flannel shirt. There were a few streaks of gray in his reddish-brown hair, and above the scraggly beard, a suntanned, weathered complexion.
Preoccupied, they didn’t seem to see her in an alcove near the front door. Vince finished pumping gas, and he and Max got into the car. Max started the engine while the bearded man took off around the side of the building and disappeared.
They sure didn’t look like fishermen, Libby thought, but then what did she know?
As the sedan drove away, Libby spotted Sam’s big Dodge truck pulling into the parking lot. Sam got out of the pickup, his eyes widening at the stack of packages at her feet.
“I knew I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.” He took the armload of bags and began loading them into the back of the truck. Libby tried not to notice the lean muscles shifting beneath his denim shirt, or the way his behind, outlined by faded butter-soft jeans, flexed and tightened with his every move.
The lift in her stomach surprised her. She hadn’t felt the least desire for a man in...well, years. She’d just been burned too often. But Sam was different. Nothing like the men she used to date in the city.
Or at least that was the way he seemed. Maybe it was all just an act, a way to get her to let down her guard. It had happened before.
“Time to go,” Sam said, snapping her out of her dismal thoughts.
Libby climbed into the truck and buckled her seat belt. Tomorrow she was going on a camping trip in the mountains. A memory stirred, her dad promising to take her on an overnight camping trip with two of her girlfriends. He and her mom had been killed the week before they were supposed to leave.
Sadness rose inside her. Libby took a deep breath and forced it away. She thought again of the pack trip and instead of dread felt an unexpected surge of anticipation. Maybe a camping trip into the Rocky Mountains wouldn’t be all that bad.
Then she remembered she was a city girl used to five-star hotels and three-star Michelin restaurants. Not a sleeping bag on the ground and no bathrooms.
She grimaced. More likely, it would be exactly as bad as she imagined.
* * * *
Sam awoke to a sound in the night. He felt restless and uneasy, probably because he had so much on his mind. Tomorrow they would be heading out, packing into the high country. The guests were all excited. Even Libby’s attitude had improved. She was ready to go, she’d told him at supper—after Clara had volunteered to take care of the kittens while she was away.
Libby trusted Clara. Sam was pretty sure she didn’t trust him. Or any other man for that matter.
He wondered again who was responsible for hurting her and found himself wishing he could land a punch in the city-boy’s face.
Unable to sleep, he climbed out of bed, pulled on his jeans, and started down the hall toward the kitchen for a glass of milk.
A noise sounded at the other end of the hall, and he turned to see a faint light coming from under Libby’s door. Knowing he should just keep walking, instead he padded back the way he’d come and kept going till he reached her room. Hearing what sounded like crying from the other side of the door, he knocked gently.
“Libby? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said, but her voice sounded shaky and a notch too high.
Sam opened the door, peered into the dimly lit bedroom, and saw Libby sitting on the bed, holding one of the kittens against her chest. Tears streaked down her cheeks.
She looked up at him, and her lips trembled. “He’s dead, Sam.” She swallowed. “He was the smallest, so I named...named him Tiny. I couldn’t get him to eat, and now...now he’s dead.”
Sam felt a tug in his heart. He sat down on the bed beside her. “It’s not your fault. You knew it could happen when you brought the kittens up here. He was just too little to survive.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I know.”
Sam gently took the miniscule gray body from her hands, went into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel, wrapped up the kitten, and carried it downstairs to the mud room. He’d bury it in the morning. In the meantime, he needed to get back to Libby.
He found her just where he’d left her, sitting on the edge of the bed in her shorty nightgown. Thank God it was cotton and not transparent, though he could clearly make out the soft swells of her breasts. He managed to keep his mind out of the gutter and tamp down any forbidden thoughts.
The bad news was she was still crying. Sam returned to his place beside her.
“It’s all right, honey. Sometimes bad things happen. You did the best you could.”
She looked up at him with big, tear-filled blue eyes. “Why does everything I love have to die? My parents, Uncle Marty. Now Tiny is dead.” She sobbed, bent over double, and started crying even harder.
This wasn’t just about the kitten, he realized. This was about her parents and Marty and the grief she had managed to keep bottled up until now. He hadn’t meant to touch her, but somehow she was in his lap and sobbing against his shoulder.
“It’s okay.” He gently smoothed a hand down her back. “Just let yourself go.”
Libby’s arms went around his neck, and she clung to him, her body shaking with the force of her tears. He was bare-chested, and he could feel the dampness on his skin. Sam let her cry until her tears turned to hiccups and she finally relaxed against him.
“You okay?” he asked, brushing pale damp strands from her cheeks.
She nodded but didn’t let go. Instead, she drew a little away, looked up at him and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.
For an instant, Sam went still. God help him, so far he had managed to stay away from her, but with her body so warm and feminine against his, nothing could hold him back now. His mouth claimed hers, and the soft kiss deepened into something more, something hot and fierce.
Libby made a sound in her throat, urging him to take the hot kiss even deeper. Tangling his hands in her hair to hold her in place, Sam ravaged her mouth, taking everything she offered, giving her what she wanted in return.
“Libby,” he whispered, forcing himself to slow down. “If we don’t stop, I’m going to want more. In the morning you’ll regret it.”
“I need you, Sam,” she said, kissing him until he groaned. Her waist was tiny before it flared into a pair of womanly hips. Her breasts felt soft and full against his bare chest.