McKettrick's Pride

“I was a little short-tempered at the party,” he said awkwardly. “I’d like to apologize.”

Her eyes widened. Whatever she’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. “No need,” she said, still cautious, just when he was beginning to think she wasn’t going to speak to him at all.

“I caught a mess of fish while we were camping,” he heard himself say. “I thought I’d fry them up for supper tonight.” He paused, cleared his throat, trying to remember the last time he’d felt like a sixteen-year-old asking out the most popular girl in school. “Maybe you’d like to join us?”

She flushed. Fidgeted a little. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea—”

“The girls will be there,” he put in quickly when she faltered. He grinned, more out of nervousness than amusement. “You can bring the dog.”

Echo moistened her lips. “Look, you don’t have to—”

“Do you ever speak in complete sentences?” Rance asked, relieved when she relaxed and even laughed a little.

She looked down at her clothes, which Rance would have liked to peel away so he could taste everything underneath in slow, wet nibbles.

“I’m a mess,” she said.

Some mess, he thought, shifting uncomfortably when a vision of those legs, draped over his shoulders while he knelt between them, flashed into his mind. “You look fine to me,” he answered, silently crediting himself with the understatement of the century.

He saw the decision, tentative and hopeful, take shape in her face.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay,” he agreed.

“I’ll just grab a shower and meet you at your place later.”

Another vision exploded in Rance’s mind. Echo, naked and slick with water, coming apart in his arms as he slammed into her in a single thrust of his hips.

He had to swallow again. If he didn’t get out of there quick, he’d have to step behind the counter to hide his rising interest.

“Six o’clock?” he asked.

“Six o’clock,” she confirmed.

He turned, started for the door, then looked back over one shoulder. “You need directions?”

Her smile melted something inside him. “That would help,” she said.

He told her how to find the house and made his escape.

Outside, feeling distracted and three kinds of grubby, he noticed that the door of his rig was a little ajar.

Weird, he thought. He’d slammed it shut after getting out.

With a shrug, he climbed into the SUV and started the engine.

All the way back to the ranch, he thought about Echo.

He wasn’t a psychic.

He didn’t call hotlines, hang crystals or consult tarot cards.

And he didn’t need any of those things to tell him what the future held.

He was going to make love to Echo Wells—and soon.

“IT DOESN’T MEAN A THING,” Echo told Avalon as she shinnied into a pair of jeans, after her shower, and then pulled a white eyelet top on over her bra, a lacey number she wore whenever she wanted cleavage. “He’s just trying to make up for being rude at the party.”

Avalon tipped her head to one side and panted.

“We shouldn’t read anything into this,” Echo went on, fluffing her hair. Should she braid it, pin it up or wear it down?

She decided on the braid. Pinning it up implied too much getting ready, and wearing it down was too sexy. Not to mention that, being damp from the shower, it was bound to frizz out around her head and make her look as though she’d just stuck her finger into a light socket.

Makeup?

Echo sighed. Too much getting ready again.

She settled for lip gloss and a touch of mascara.

Perfume?

Not a chance.

“Come on,” she said to Avalon, hooking a leash to the dog’s collar and grabbing for her purse. “We’ll drive slowly, so we don’t seem too eager.”

Avalon sighed.

They descended the stairs, into the shop, and Echo paused a moment to enjoy the new shelves and the smell of sawdust.

Outside, she locked the shop door and approached the Volkswagen. She’d bought it with a windfall, last year. Now, looking at it, she wondered if she shouldn’t have chosen a more circumspect color.

She opened the passenger-side door, and Avalon leaped obediently into the seat, waited while Echo unhooked the leash again and fastened the seat belt.

“Can’t be too careful,” she said. “After all, you’re probably preggo.”

A minute later, they were zooming out of town.

They’d traveled several miles before Echo remembered that she didn’t want to seem eager, and slowed to approximately the speed of a lawn mower.

Avalon panted, watching the scenery drag by.

Echo turned the radio on, then off again.

Flipped on the CD player.

Mozart. That was what she needed. Nice, soothing Mozart.