“Thank you, Lucius.”

Jake tipped back his chair. “I wouldn’t mind a walk myself.”

Sarah had to smile at the way Lucius began to whistle after he’d closed the door. “You go ahead.”

He took her hand as she rose. “I’d like it better if you went with me.”

She smiled. He’d never asked her to do something as ordinary, and as romantic, as going for a walk. Thank goodness she hadn’t forgotten how to flirt. “Why, that’s nice of you, but I have to see to the dishes. And Alice may be waking soon. I think she could eat a bit now.”

“I imagine I could occupy myself for an hour or two. We’ll take a walk when you’re done.”

She sent him a look from under lowered lashes.

“Maybe.” Then she laughed as he sent her spinning into his lap. “Why, Mr. Redman. You are quite a brute.”

He ran a finger lightly over the bruise under her eye.

“Then you’d best be careful. Kiss me, Sarah.”

She smiled when her lips were an inch from his.

“And if I don’t?”

“But you will.” He traced her bottom lip with his tongue. “You will.”

She did, sinking into it, into him. Her arms wound around him, slender and eager. Her mouth opened like a flower in sunlight. They softened against him even as they heated. They yielded even as they demanded.

“Don’t be long,” he murmured. He kissed her again, passion simmering, then set her on her feet. She let out a long, shaky breath when he closed the door behind him.

With Alice settled for the night and the day’s work behind her, Sarah stepped out into the quieting light of early evening. It was still too warm to bother with a shawl, but she pushed her sleeves down past her elbows and buttoned the cuffs. There were bruises on her arms that she didn’t care to dwell on.

From where she stood she could hear Lucius in the shed, talking to Lafitte. He’d become more his dog than hers, Sarah thought with a laugh. Or perhaps they’d both become something of hers.

As the land had.

She closed her eyes and let the light breeze flutter over her face. She could, if she concentrated hard enough, catch the faintest whiff of sage. And she could, if she used enough imagination, picture what it would be like to sit on the porch she envisioned having, watching the sun go down every evening while Jake rolled a cigarette and listened with her to the music of the night.

Bringing herself back, she looked around. Where was he? She stepped farther out into the yard when she heard the sound of hammer against wood. She saw him, a few yards from the chicken coop, beating an old post into the ground. He’d taken his shirt off, and she could see the light sheen of sweat over his lean torso and the rippling and bunching of his muscles as he swung the heavy hammer down.

Her thoughts flew back to the way his arms had swung her into heat, into passion. The hands that gripped the thick, worn handle of the hammer now had roamed over her, touching, taking whatever they chose.

And she had touched, wantonly, even greedily, that long, limber body, taking it, accepting it as her own. Her breath shuddered out as she watched him bend and lift and pound. Was it wrong to have such thoughts, such wonderful, exciting visions? How could it be, when she loved so completely? She wanted his heart, but oh, she wanted his body, as well, and she could find no shame in it.

His head came up quickly, as she imagined an animal’s might when it caught a scent. And he had.

Though she was several yards away, he had sensed her, the trace of lilac, the subtlety of woman. He straightened, and just as she had looked her fill of him, he looked his of her.

She might have stepped from a cool terrace to walk in a garden. The wind played with her skirts and her hair, but gently. The backdrop of the setting sun was like glory behind her. Her eyes, as she walked toward him, were wide and dark and aware.

“You’ve got a way of moving, Duchess, that makes my mouth water.”

“I don’t think that’s what the good sisters intended when they taught me posture. But I’m glad.” She moved naturally to his arms, to his lips. “Very glad.” For the first time in his life he felt awkward with a woman, and he drew her away. “I’m sweaty.”

“I know.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at his face. “What are you doing?”

She made him feel like a boy fumbling over his first dance. “You said you wanted pigs. You need a pen.”

He picked up his shirt and shrugged it on. “What are you doing?”

“Watching you.” She put a hand to his chest, where the shirt lay open. “Remembering. Wondering if you want me as much as you did.”

He took her hand before she could tear what was inside of him loose. “No, I don’t. I want you more.” He picked up his gunbelt, but instead of strapping it on he draped it over his shoulder. “Why don’t we go for that walk?”

Content, she slipped her hand into his. “When I first came here I wondered what it was that had kept my father, rooted him here. At first I thought it was only for me, because he wanted so badly to provide what he thought I’d need. That grieved me. I can’t tell you how much.” She glanced up as they passed the rise that led to his grave. “Later I began to see that even though that was part of it, perhaps the most important part to him, he was also happy here. It eases the loss to know he was happy.”

They started down the path to the stream she had come to know so well.

“I didn’t figure you’d stick.” Her hand felt right, easy and right, tucked in his. “When I brought you out here the first time, you looked as if someone had dropped you on your head.”

“It felt as though someone had. Losing him… Well, the truth is, I’d lost him years and years ago. To me, he’s exactly the same as he was the day he left. Maybe there’s something good about that. I never told you he had spun me a tale.” At the stream she settled down on her favorite rock and listened to the water’s melody. “He told me of the fine house he’d built after he’d struck the rich vein of gold in Sarah’s Pride. He painted me a picture of it with his words. Four bedrooms, a parlor with the windows facing west, a wide porch with big round columns.” She smiled a little and watched the sun glow over the buttes. “Maybe he thought I needed that, and maybe I did, to see myself as mistress of a fine, big house with curving stairs and high, cool walls.”

He could see it, and her. “It was what you were made for.”

“It’s you I was made for.” Rising, she held out her hands.

“I want you, Sarah. I can’t offer you much more than a blanket to spread on the ground.”

She glanced over at the small pile of supplies he’d already brought down to the stream. She moved to it and lifted the blanket.

It was twilight when they lowered to it. The air had softened. The wind was only a rustle in the thin brush. Overhead the sky arched, a deep, ever-darkening blue. Under the wool of the blanket the ground was hard and unforgiving. She lifted her arms to him and they left the rest behind.

It was as it had been the first time, and yet different.

The hunger was there, and the impatient pull of desire. With it was a knowledge of the wonder, the magic, they could make between them. A little slower now, a little surer, they moved together.

There was urgency in his kiss. She could feel it. But beneath it was a tenderness she had dreamed of, hoped for. Seduced by that alone, she murmured his name.

Beneath her palm, his cheek was rough. Under her ringers, his skin was smooth. His body, like his mind, like his heart, was a contrast that drew her, compelled her to learn more.

A deep, drugging languor filled her as he began to undress her. There was no frantic rush, as there had been before. His fingers were slow and sure as they moved down the small covered buttons. She felt the air whisper against her skin as he parted the material. Then it was his mouth, warmer, sweeter, moving over her. Her sigh was like music.