The Return Of David Mckay

“For your grandmother’s sake, pretend to have a good time.”

He laughed. “It would be a lot easier if you hadn’t given me a mount who tries to drop his nose every five minutes to crop grass.”

“Don’t let him. You’re the one in charge.”

He cocked his head to one side and favored her with a look that made a finger of curling heat spread through her insides. “Really?” he remarked. “I thought you were, trail boss.”

She pressed her lips together and glanced down, finding sudden interest in threading Sheba’s reins through her fingers. Fortunately Geneva saved her from having to come up with an appropriately clever response. Twisting around to glance their way, she asked, “What are you two up to back there?”

The moment passed. In a strong, steady voice, Addy replied, “David was just telling me he’s getting saddle sore. We’d better take a break and let him stretch out the kinks.”

THE TRUTH WAS, BY THE end of the day when they stopped to set up camp by a winding stream, David wasn’t saddle sore. He was in agony.

His neck and shoulders were on fire. A hitching pain knifed into his side, and his butt felt as though a boxer had used it for a punching bag. He might not have forgotten how to ride, but he’d definitely forgotten how much a couple thousand pounds of horseflesh between your legs could realign your skeletal system.

Not surprisingly, Addy didn’t seem to be suffering any discomfort. David was irritated to witness the agility with which she slid off her horse and began tethering the animals. Gran didn’t seem much affected, either. She slipped off Clover before anyone could furnish a hand to help her down.

David dismounted with an inward sigh of relief and a stretch of weariness. He was tired. Tired of trail dust and the monotonous thud of horse’s hooves. Tired of fielding questions and solving problems for his office that should have been handled in person.

Most of all, he was tired of watching Addy’s shapely little behind rock gently back and forth in her saddle.

He had tried to tell himself that he was probably just bored. There was no reason for that slight, sensual movement of hers to take him by the throat this way. None at all.

And definitely no reason for him to still be remotely curious about the relationship between Addy and Brandon O’Dell. Close friends? New lovers? What?

Gran had been no help in shedding any light. One of the few times he’d managed to get her out of Addy’s earshot to ask, she’d responded with a shrug and said he’d have to ask Addy himself. Gran could be the sphinx when she wanted to be.

Removing his Stetson, David ran one hand across the back of his neck. Sunburned, probably.

“I’ll take care of the horses if you’ll put up the tent,” Addy told him. He nodded agreement, and she tossed back the waterproof cover over Sheba’s pack to withdraw a small hammer and the nylon bag holding the tent, stakes and struts.

“What can I do to help?” Geneva piped in. “And don’t tell me to rest.”

“We’ll need a fire,” Addy said. “Scout around for deadwood and a few small twigs to use for kindling. I brought some homemade chicken and dumplings that will need to be heated. And we’ll need hot water to wash up later.”

Geneva set off on her assignment while Addy began unsaddling the horses and mules. David glanced around the spot she’d chosen as their campsite.

She knew what she was doing. It was pretty and practical, a sheltered circle of large boulders and pines with a level grassy area ideal for the tent. The nearby stream was meandering, the current so sluggish and smooth that the reflection of the cottonwood trees along the bank seemed enameled on its surface.

It was early yet. The sun still held a bright, burnished shimmer overhead and wouldn’t set for at least an hour.

He shook out the tent, which seemed to be one of those fancy dome-type ones that took a minimum of work to erect once you got the hang of it.

The first time he smacked one of the stakes with the hammer, it bounced straight back at him and almost took out an eye. Determined, he attacked the hard ground with the hammer’s head until he’d dug a hole. Maybe there was a better way, but he wasn’t about to ask for directions.

Thirty minutes later the little clearing had been turned into a neat and orderly campsite. The horses and mules were hobbled and munching contentedly on grain. His grandmother was stirring a pot of dumplings over the fire. Indian blankets had been spread. Addy was in the tent, laying out pads and bedrolls and affixing a battery-powered lantern to one of the tent struts.

Glancing around at what the three of them had achieved, David wondered if maybe this trip wouldn’t be such a disaster after all.

The evening scents began to awaken and wander through the air. The wind died, making the extra clothing they’d pulled out of their packs unnecessary. They ate the dumplings with coffee and warmed corn bread brought from the lodge and talked of inconsequential things—the few glimpses of wildlife they’d seen today, the chance for rain. The likelihood of getting a good night’s sleep in strange surroundings and unfamiliar bedding.

Every so often Gran seemed inclined to turn the conversation to the past, but David noticed that Addy was quick to change the subject. If she hadn’t, he knew he would have. No point in reliving any of that, now, was there?

After dinner Gran disappeared into the tent. Addy set another pot over the fire to heat water for dish washing and bathing. When that was done, she joined his grandmother and then emerged moments later with a small toiletry bag.

“I’ll be sleeping out here tonight,” she told him.

“Why? We can squeeze three people in the tent.”

“On trips like this I usually sleep under the stars. I like the feel of the night breeze on my face.”

“Suppose it rains?”

“Then I’ll come inside.” When she saw his eye-brows knit in a solid line, she added, “Look, you don’t have to worry about your macho image on this trip. I don’t expect you to be uncomfortable for my sake.”

“I’ve slept out in the open plenty of times,” he protested tersely.

“Recently?”

“No.”

“Well, I do it all the time now, so I’m used to it. And I happen to like it.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Let’s take turns, then.”

With a resigned sigh, she said, “All right. Every other night I’ll sleep in the tent with your grandmother.”

“Starting tonight,” he added.

With an agreement reached, she moved toward the fire.

David watched her tend the campfire and send a plume of sparks skyward to meet the heavens. She’d lost the ponytail, and the rippling fall of her hair was full of fiery highlights. The glow of the flames reflected off her features, making her cheeks gleam like satin and painting the curve of her throat with golden light.

He stared down into his coffee cup, his heart jerking.

David appreciated the sight of a beautiful woman. And no doubt about it, Addy still had prettiness to spare. In fact, it didn’t seem as though she’d changed one bit in the time he’d been gone.

He hadn’t seriously dated in months, content to take refuge in the satisfaction of hard work and the respect he received for his accomplishments. That was all he needed. That was what he knew.

All right, so maybe lately it felt as though his life had lapsed into a narrow rut, full of pools he never had time to swim in and new cars that sat in garages like zoo animals. Although dissatisfaction was inevitable once in a while, he had found that discontent eventually became a comfortable, familiar routine.

And when he felt the need to be lifted out of his circumstances, there were always females circling him like honeybees. That was one thing about the women in Hollywood. They had plenty of aggressive ambition.

But certainly he was well over any interest in Addy D’Angelo.

So stop looking for trouble, pal. Think about something else.

With an abrupt movement, he rose, as if that was all it would take to cease to know Addy’s existence.