Cherokee Baby

She stood and sent him a look as sweet and warm as a candy-wrapped sun.

He approached her, thinking she looked like a fairy. She had a beguiling little dimple, eyes as green as moss and freckles sprinkled across her nose like glitter.

Forty looked cute on her, he decided. Bright and fresh.

“Morning,” he said.

“Hi.”

She adjusted the hem of an oversize denim jacket. The white blouse beneath it sported a touch of lace at the collar and a row of tiny blue buttons. Her jeans were a pair of comfortably worn Levi’s. Her moderately priced boots looked brand-spanking-new.

“So, have you ever been on a horse?” he asked, gearing up for her lesson.

She shook her head. “I’m from Pennsylvania.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “They don’t have horses in Pennsylvania?”

She waved her hands in a flighty gesture. “Oh, of course they do. That was dumb.”

No, he thought. It was sweet. “I’m just teasing you, Julianne.”

“I know.” She sent him a lopsided smile. “And you’re good at it, too.”

He kept grinning. “You’re an easy mark.”

“So I can expect you to torture me with that sense of humor of yours?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Having a sense of humor kept him alive, he supposed. That and his passion for horses. And of course, his paternal love for Michael.

He considered Julianne and wondered if she had any kids. Knowing it wasn’t his place to question her, he didn’t ask.

“Come on,” he said, guiding her into the barn. “I’ll introduce you to your mount.”

He chose a well-mannered, highly trained gelding. They stopped in front of a box stall and he motioned to the quarter horse. “This is Sir Caballero. ‘Sir Knight’ in English. Most of the time we just call him Caballero.”

“So, he’s a boy.”

“Yep.” Amused, Bobby watched her warm up to the gelding. “A ten-year-old boy.”

She tilted her head. “How can you tell?”

“That he’s male?”

She glanced at the horse, then blushed furiously. “I was talking about his age. How can you tell how old he is?”

Still amused, he flashed a telltale grin. “I knew what you meant.”

“Oh, goodness.” She laughed, rolled her pretty green eyes. “You were teasing me again. I’m such a dork.”

“No, you’re not.” She was playful, he thought. A little naive. And that girlish naiveté made him want to kiss her. To brush her lips with his, to taste the dimple in her cheek. “You’re sweet.”

She blinked and smiled, and the dimple imbedded even deeper. “Thank you.”

Bobby moved closer and they gazed at each other. All he had to do was to lean forward and initiate the first kiss, the first sip of satisfaction.

When she moistened her lips, a shiver shot straight to his groin.

Lust, he thought. Sugarcoated lust.

Kissing Julianne wouldn’t change who he was or what he’d done to Sharon. It wouldn’t restore his honor or the broken vow he’d made to his wife’s family.

It would only be a balm, temporary relief for what would never quit ailing him.

But that didn’t make his desire, the hunger, any less real.

“Where were we?” he asked, doing his damnedest to break the spell, to get back on track, to quit staring at her mouth.

“We were…” About to kiss, Julianne thought. Or so it had seemed. But she couldn’t be sure. She’d been out of practice for far too long.

“We were talking about Caballero,” she said, suddenly recalling where they’d left off. “About him being a boy. And about how old he is.” She turned to the horse and tried to gain control of her senses. She’d lain awake most of the night, considering an affair with Bobby.

A fun, fast, fulfilling fling.

“Oh, yeah.” He turned to the horse, too. “First of all, he’s a gelding, a castrated male.”

Julianne merely nodded. She wasn’t about to comment on the poor beast’s castration.

“Caballero is a registered quarter horse,” Bobby went on to say. “And his date of birth is on his papers. But a horse’s teeth can determine its age. The wearing surface changes as they grow older.”

“That makes sense.” She reached out to stroke the gelding’s nose, and the horse bobbed his approval.

Bobby glanced her way and once again their gazes locked. Softly, gently. Like a breath of spring.

Her cousins were right. She did need to get on with her life. To bask in the warmth and glory of a rough, rugged cowboy.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

To touch him? To lie beside his long-limbed, leanly muscled body?

“Yes,” she said.

He reached for a nylon article hanging beside the stall. “This is a halter.” He opened the door, entered the stall and buckled the horse into the headgear.

He led Caballero toward the barn door, and then stopped to say something in Spanish to a young Latino ranch hand, who looked at Julianne and nodded his head.

Once they were outside, Bobby tied the gelding to a hitching post. Julianne remained by his side, watching everything he did.

Yes, she thought. Yes. She wanted Bobby Elk. She wanted those big, calloused hands all over her.