his breathing slowed again, signaling he’d fallen back into a deep sedated sleep, Rory slowly lifted his arm and slipped out from under it and the horse blanket. He stirred. She froze.
Then he rolled over, pulling the blanket with him, but not before she’d seen his naked backside.
She closed her eyes as she was assaulted with images of the two of them in the throes of lovemaking. A groan escaped her lips. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes flying open, fearing she’d awakened him.
With relief, she saw that he was still sleeping soundly.
Her clothing was on a nail, where she’d hung it the night before. Her underwear was at the end of the horse blanket next to the groom’s bare feet.
She gingerly extracted the lingerie and pulled it on. From the nail, she retrieved her shirt, which was almost dry, as were her socks. Her jeans and jean jacket were still cold and wet.
But she hardly noticed as she dressed and tried her best to ignore the hot flush of her skin or the slight whisker burn on certain parts of her body.
Don’t think about it.
She wished it were that simple. She was appalled that she’d made love to a perfect stranger—and that she’d enjoyed it more than she should have.
Completely dressed, she stood for a moment telling herself maybe it had just been a dream. Right. She wasn’t letting herself off that easily. Last night had been reckless, scandalous and…and…amazing. At least according to her limited experience.
As she turned to stare at the man curled in her horse blanket, she felt almost guilty about just leaving him there to meet his fate. When she’d found him lying in the pine needles drunk and confused, she’d thought he deserved whatever punishment his royal boss would give him for riding, in an inebriated state, such a beautiful horse.
But this morning she worried that he really might be sent home to face a firing squad. She hoped that wasn’t the case, but there was nothing she could do about it. In fact, since she’d refused to sell her property to his employer, it was good that no one would ever know where the groom had spent the night—or with whom.
She was grateful that he didn’t know who she was. With luck, she would never see him again since the man obviously was a bad influence on her.
It dawned on her that the only two men she’d ever slept with she now had to avoid.
Not a great track record, she told herself as she picked up her saddle, eased open the door and slipped out.
DEVLIN BARROW WOKE with the worst hangover of his life. He opened his eyes to find himself wrapped in a horse blanket.
Sitting up with a start, he looked around in confusion—and alarm. He spotted his clothing draped over nails on the log walls of what appeared to be a very small cabin. But he didn’t recall hanging his clothing there anymore than he could remember this place or the previous night.
The sun was up and a slight breeze blew through several cracks between the logs, chilling what he realized was his very bare skin.
“What the devil?” He rubbed his stubbled jaw and desperately tried to remember how he’d gotten there.
He had not the faintest idea. Not as to how he’d come to be there nor where he even was. Nor could he explain his massive headache or the cut over his left eye or the tender bump he felt on his temple.
Getting shakily to his feet, he retrieved his clothing and dressed. Since he’d been wearing his riding britches and boots, he could only assume he’d gone for a ride. So where was his horse? Where was he?
His riding britches were cold and damp to the touch. He frowned as he remembered something. He quickly searched his pockets, only to find the first empty. In the other, he discovered a slip of paper.
The note that had been slipped under his door yesterday afternoon.
The ink had run on the paper, but he could still make out the words: I must see you. Meet me in the aspen woods a mile to the east of Stanwood tonight after dark.
If he’d met someone in the woods last night, he couldn’t remember it.
The bump on the head, the hangover from alcohol he couldn’t remember drinking and the feeling that something important had happened last night made him fear that he’d been tricked into coming to this isolated spot not to receive the news he so desperately sought, but to be…what? Killed?
He stuffed the note into his shirt pocket and, fighting a wave of nausea, opened the door and stumbled out into the sunlight. To his growing concern, he saw no sign of his horse. Nor had the horse blanket he’d been wrapped in been one from Stanwood stables.
He was becoming more concerned about the consequences of finding himself in such a predicament. He licked his lips, his mouth dry and tasting of stale brandy. Another taste teased his memory.
He shook his head as if to clear away the cobwebs and shuddered at the pain. Why was it he could remember having only one drink since he must have imbibed more than that to be feeling this awful?
Common sense told him he wouldn’t have gotten drunk before his meeting in the woods. So how did he explain this headache, his lack of memory?
The thick pines outside at least told him he was in Montana, but nothing looked familiar. Not that he’d been there long enough to know his way around. Yesterday had been his first day at Stanwood.
That seemed to jar a memory. He saw himself standing in the main parlor, having a brandy with several of the nobility visiting Stanwood. He’d been called up from the stables and complimented on his riding abilities. After that, he recalled nothing.
His riding abilities? How ironic since it appeared he’d not only lost his memory—but his horse, as well.
The ground, he noted, was still wet, the pine boughs dripping bejeweled drops that caught the sunlight in blinding prisms. When had it rained? He recalled being cold, then warm.
An image flirted with his memory, but didn’t stick around any longer than to make him anxious. He had to get back to Stanwood.
Taking a moment, Devlin studied the angle of the sun and started walking down the mountainside, hoping to find a road or fence or someone who could tell him where he was.
As he rubbed the knot on his temple, he chastised himself for being a fool. He’d wager he’d been tricked into riding into the storm and woods last night. As terrible as he felt, he had a feeling he was lucky to be alive.
He’d gone on a fool’s errand and now he would have to pay the price. He feared it would mean his job and being sent back to his home country. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d come too far, had already taken too many chances to get at the truth.
Stumbling through the woods, he headed due west. He wasn’t sure how far he’d gone when he heard the thunder of hooves pounding toward him, and he looked up to see a half dozen of the royal police bearing down on him.
ALL RORY WANTED was to get back to the ranch, take a hot shower and put the storm and the groom out of her mind.
If only she could exorcize
