points toward the horizon. “Way out there. Farther than you can see.”
We lead our horses to the stream. As they lower their heads to drink, I realize that I’m thirsty too.
Micah hunkers down at the stream’s edge, cups his hands, and scoops water into his mouth.
I laugh. “I thought cowboys were supposed to use their hats for that.”
He shuts one eye and grins up at me.
Damn — he’s good-looking!
“If it wasn’t a new hat, I just might,” he says. “Then I’d soak it in the stream and stick it back on my head. It would keep me cool the whole ride home. Are you thirsty?”
“Actually, I am, but I sincerely doubt that I can drink from my hands.”
“Sure you can,” he insists. “It’s easy. Even a city slicker like you can manage it. I’ll show you.”
I recognize a dare when I hear one, and not being a person to back away from a challenge, I kneel down and give it a try. But something goes wrong on the way to my mouth and the water lands all down the front of my T-shirt.
“Aaaaaggghh!” I holler as I jump to my feet and hop around, trying to pull my shirt away from my body. “Jeez, that’s cold!” I look down at myself. I’m soaked. Who knew my hands could hold that much water?
Micah is laughing so hard he’s reeling around the field. “You’re supposed to drink it, not wear it,” he informs me between guffaws.
I make a face. “Very funny.”
Still chuckling, Micah walks over to his horse and retrieves something from the saddle bag. I can’t see what it is though, and when he turns around, he slips it behind him. I take a step backwards.
Micah stops. “What? You don’t trust me?”
I send him what I hope is a withering glare. “You’re surprised?”
“Hey, you’re the one with the hole in your hands — or your mouth.” His face breaks into that smile of his, and even though I know the joke is on me, I have to concentrate on not melting. “I had nothing to do with it,” he adds.
His gaze wanders down to my wet T- shirt, and suddenly, I’m self-conscious. I cross my arms over my chest.
“I have a peace offering,” he says. And without another word, he returns to the stream. His back is to me, so I can’t see what he’s doing.
When he turns around again, he has an enamelled cup, brimming with water. He holds it out to me.
My jaw drops open. “You had that all along? Micah! Why didn’t you give it to me in the first place?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t think of it, I guess.”
“Liar,” I mumble as I take the cup.
The water is sweet and tastes of minerals and snowy mountains. I shut my eyes to savour its refreshing iciness. When the cup is empty, I lick my lips and open my eyes.
And there’s Micah. Not that he wasn’t there before, but now he’s so close I can practically see my reflection in his eyes. I can smell his aftershave, too.
I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times, but now that it’s here, I can’t believe it’s happening. I’m surprised. I’m nervous. I’m excited. Trapped in the gaze of those unbelievably blue eyes, I catch my breath.
Micah finds one of my hands. His fingers curl around mine, and he traces the shape of my nails with his thumb. I let my eyes travel his face, memorizing every detail for later. His mouth twitches as if he’s going to smile.
Time stops, and in my mind I’m poised on the edge of a cliff.
And then he kisses me.
Chapter Eleven
I have no memory of the drive back to Sam’s place. None. Lizzie takes us there all by herself — kind of like a homing pigeon. I certainly have nothing to do with it. My body may be in the truck, but my mind is on the bank of a sparkling stream, kissing the most awesome guy in the world.
“Thanks, Lizzie,” I murmur when we come to a stop and I pull the key out of the ignition. “I owe you.” Then I take a deep breath and try to clear my mind of Micah. It’s the last thing I want to do, but if Sam sees me with stars in my eyes, he’ll think I’ve been kicked in the head by a horse.
As soon as I shut the door and come around the truck, I see him. He’s sitting on the steps, exactly where I left him a few hours ago.
“Have you even moved?” I tease. My laugh comes easy.
He smiles, but there’s something missing, and suddenly, I don’t feel so lighthearted.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
Finally, his laugh-lines come out of hiding, and I relax. “Now that you’re back, it is,” he says.
This declaration touches me. “Aw, Sam.” I smile self-consciously. “You were worried about me.”
“And Lizzie.”
I sigh. So much for sentimentality. “Well, as you can see, we’re both fine,” I tell him. Then I ask, “What’s our lunch plan?”
“I thought we’d eat light today,” he says. “Maybe just a sandwich. That should hold us until tonight’s potluck supper at the community centre.”
Baby butterflies take flight in my stomach. Micah brought up the potluck during our trail ride, but I hadn’t known a thing about it. Since Sam had never mentioned it, I’d figured it wasn’t on his social calendar. And that meant I was going to have to talk him into going.
But apparently not.
I flop down on the step and give Sam’s arm a big squeeze.
He looks at me sideways. “What’s that for?”
“I’m just happy.” I hug his arm again. “I’ve never been to a potluck. It sounds like fun.”
“Is that right?” he says, still eying me sideways. “In all my life, I have never — not even once — seen a person of the female persuasion get moonstruck over chicken pot pie and macaroni salad. Is there something you aren’t telling me, girl?”
Ba-boom! That brings me back to earth in a hurry. For a guy who’s never been married, Sam is awfully good at reading women, and at the moment I have no desire to be read. My feelings about Micah are too hard to hide and too new to share. I cluck my tongue and stand up. “Isn’t it obvious? We need to get cooking. So come on.” I put out my hand to help him up. “The potluck is only a few hours away and we haven’t even figured out what we’re taking yet.”
———
Though I mostly packed jeans and T-shirts for my Webb’s
