Until Tomorrow Page 7

  He was so naughty. And then I realized afresh that he was entertaining himself, as I was still so obviously flustered by his suggestive words, just as I had been three summers ago, falling right into his teasing. I was behaving embarrassingly like a teenaged girl and Marshall loved every minute of tormenting me, I could tell. Just the same way he’d untied my bikini top that summer in Landon, had splashed me and tugged my hair, had jumped into the lake with me in his arms.

  Well two can play at that game, I thought grimly.

  I may not know much about seduction, but I did have a boyfriend. Liam and I might not have been the wildest couple I knew but I wasn’t totally clueless. And I knew I had a nice body – not that this should matter in the whole scheme of things, I realized. But a devil seemed to have taken up residence on my shoulder. Besides, I reflected, I had never used my pretty dang considerable curves as a ploy before.

  So maybe it was about time.

  “Are you sure it’s stable?” I asked, pretending to be a little worried. I put my right foot on the lowest beam, simultaneously arching my breasts and hips, just a little. From the corner of my eye, I saw his throat bob as he swallowed and felt a ridiculous surge of vindication.

  Take that, I thought.

  “It’s stable,” he said. He sounded just a little bit hoarse. “Trust me.”

  I climbed deliberately at first; Marshall waited until I was a couple of rungs up before following, and then I lost all my false bravado and practically raced to the top, where Wy was waiting impatiently. The haymow was sweetly scented, long beams of afternoon sun decorating the stacks of bales, gilding them with angelic light. Marshall cleared the final rung but I couldn’t look at him. Instead I focused on Wy, who had plopped on his belly in the far corner.

  “See, here’s where she hides them,” Wy explained.

  I knelt to join him, the floorboards and loose hay prickling against my bare knees, peering into the nest the mama kitty had made in the hay; a good half-dozen little kittens were mewling at her belly. They were just big enough to have fur.

  “Oh wow,” I breathed. “They’re so little.”

  “Aren’t they cute?” Wy said, reaching a tentative finger.

  Marshall crouched beside me and said to his brother, “Don’t, buddy, she’ll nip you.”

  As much as I truly wished it wasn’t so, I was terribly conscious of Marshall at my side, as though my senses were sharpened by his very presence. I was so completely aware of his long, lean body and his face, now in profile, the way I could hear the soft sound of his breath, the way I seemed to notice every last detail even without looking directly at him, from the abundance of dark hair on his forearms, the bones on the outside of each of his wrists, his callused and capable-looking hands, to the faded patches on his jeans, at both knees.

  I swore I could even smell him, the scent of his breath and maybe the soap he’d used in the shower, and all these things made me itchy and sweaty and restless; my nipples were at almost-painfully taut attention, rubbing against the inside of my bra. And I berated myself harshly again.

  I don’t understand this at all.

  I really don’t even like him.

  Wy said, interrupting my thoughts, “Marsh, what if Case doesn’t wake up?”

  The boy’s voice was low and rough and his heartfelt question effectively snapped me from my self-absorption. Wy had turned to look at Marshall as he asked this, and his eyes were full of tears. Marshall immediately cupped one hand around his little brother’s left shoulder and squeezed him. He said to Wy, “Hey. He will. We can’t think otherwise.”

  I put one hand on Wy’s back and patted him. I said sincerely, “Tish won’t let anything happen to him. That’s what I keep telling myself.”

  Marshall laughed a little at this, and he said, “Damn right. That woman is a force to be reckoned with.”

  Wy nodded acknowledgement and he said, “Okay.”

  “C’mere,” Marshall told his brother, and bear-hugged him. Despite the gravity of the situation, I found room to wonder what it might take to be afforded the same privilege – that of being held close to Marshall Rawley. But I determinedly shoved aside this madly inappropriate desire. Marshall roughed up Wy’s shaggy hair and then said, including me in the question, “You two ready to head back to the hospital? Everybody is fed for the evening.”

  I nodded, tucking loose hair behind my ears. I said, “Thanks for letting me come with you guys.”

  Marshall nodded and said, without looking at me, “Our pleasure, ain’t it, Wyatt?”

  Wy surprised me by moving from Marshall’s arms and hugging me around the neck. The boy smelled of sweat and dust, of hay and horses, but I hugged him right back, rocking him side to side almost unconsciously. Wy moved to kiss my cheek and accidentally landed the smooch pretty close to my lips (his breath smelled like the chocolate shake he’d been sipping and his mouth left behind a slightly sticky spot), prompting Marshall to mutter, “Sweet Jesus, you’re pushing your luck, kid. That’s no way to get your first kiss.”

  I giggled at this and Wy did too, totally unperturbed. Marshall met my gaze, which made my heart throw itself against my ribs, as Wy bounded for the ladder and proceeded to climb down, leaving Marshall and I momentarily alone. Unobserved.

  Hug me, I begged him silently, overwhelmed by this desire, looking straight into his eyes. I need you to hold me. Just for a second.

  The air between us seemed thin; at least, I could barely breathe. Marshall remained momentarily still, not a hint of a smile. He said softly, not a question so much as an observation, “You said your boyfriend wanted to kick my ass back to Montana?” Without waiting for my nod of affirmation, he added quietly, “He’d want to kick it a lot farther than that for what I’m thinking right now.”

  I drew in a sharp breath before I could compose myself; in the next second I realized that I was playing right into his teasing. Again. He got me every time. I couldn’t, however, prevent the seeping flush that I could actually feel moving over my cheeks and down my chest. I said caustically, though I had to clear my throat a little first, “Very funny.”

  His eyebrows lifted at my words and he said, “You think I’m kidding?”

  I was angry at him then, even unfairly, and without saying another word, I followed after Wy, who was already on the ground; I could hear him murmuring to Oreo. Marshall said, “Ruthann,” in a tone of voice that made my heart throb even harder, but I descended the ladder and went outside into the late-afternoon sunlight, and tried to ignore him.

  Not much use there.

  But I tried.

  I thought of what Tish had said about the air here being different than back home, and I could sense that. A wildness that felt inherent, even in the slight breeze, a suggestive whisper that made me shiver a little, as though with anticipation. I closed my eyes, letting the warm golden sunlight touch my face; its rays colored the whole world scarlet behind my eyelids. When Marshall touched my shoulder, the scarlet color pulsed as though alive.

  I opened my eyes. He was so close to me and I looked up at him in complete confusion – all I really knew in that moment was that I wanted to be held close to him. I wanted his complete attention. I longed to study his face, bathed as it was in the sunset glow, to my heart’s content. And still that wouldn’t be enough time to satisfy the way I was feeling right now.

  “Hey,” he said softly, and his hand was still curled lightly around my shoulder. He went on, “I didn’t mean to offend you. Please don’t think that.”

  My skin was burning beneath his touch; I almost looked down to see if I was visibly steaming. I said, a trifle unsteadily, “Just forget it, all right?”

  His eyebrows drew together as though he was just as confused by my attitude. He said intently, “I really didn’t.”

  Before I could respond, Wy came out of the barn and said to us, “We better get back, huh, guys? We gotta drive two hours.”

  Marshall narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath, but then he looked at Wy a
nd said, “Lock up the big doors, all right, buddy? I’ll check the house. And we’ll get going.”

  We were all hot, dusty and tired. At the truck, Wy made a little bit of a scene about not riding in the backseat. He was worn out, I knew, and stressed, and tears were again in his eyes as he whined, “But I get carsick from being in the back too long, Marsh, you know I do.”

  Marshall ran his right hand through his already-wild hair, clearly irritated. He had the driver’s side door open while Wy and I stood at the open passenger door. Marshall grumbled, “Quit being a baby. Ladies get the front seat,” just as I insisted, “I don’t mind riding in the back, honestly.”

  “My head hurts,” Wy complained.

  Instead of looking concerned, Marshall looked ready to bite his brother’s head off, and so I said firmly, “It’s just fine. You can have the front seat. I’ll ride in the back.”

  “Wyatt, why don’t you just stay here then?” Marshall said through his teeth, over-enunciating his words in his irritation. “Dad and the guys’ll be home later. There’s no reason for you to drive all the way back if you’re not sleeping over anyway.”

  Wy’s shoulders slumped with relief while my heart thrust almost fearfully; it wasn’t that I was afraid to ride all that way with just Marshall…

  “Do you want us to tuck you in?” I asked Wy, who actually flushed, and then I felt really stupid for having put it that way; I was just trying to be nice. It’s what I would have asked my nieces and nephews.

  “Yeah, you wish,” Marshall scoffed at his brother.

  “You need to calm down,” I snapped at Marshall, glaring straight into his stormy gray eyes, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise; I was slightly startled too, as I rarely spoke so sharply. To Wy I said, “Here, come on inside and I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  I thought that maybe Wy stuck his tongue out at Marshall, even though I was already heading towards the house, as I heard Marshall mutter, “Jesus Christ,” and then I smiled a little. Wy loped right after me and made a show of unlocking and opening the door for me, using the key hidden behind a loose board on the far edge of the porch.

  “Don’t tell anyone that’s where the secret key is,” he teased me.

  “Are you sure you’re all right here alone?” I asked the boy, filling a cup with water for him; it was easy to find things in their kitchen, as all of the cupboards had glass fronts.

  Wy sat at the island counter and sort-of slumped over on his forearms, but he said, “Yeah, I’m just gonna take a nap.” And then, “Thanks, Ruthann,” as I handed him the cold glass. He said, “You’re so sweet. Marsh thinks so too, but he won’t say. At least, not in front of you.”

  I was dying to ask what else Marshall wouldn’t say in front of me, but I couldn’t take advantage of Wy that way. But I had to literally bite my bottom lip to restrain the urge. At last I said, “Well, you rest and we’ll see you later, okay?”

  The boy nodded.

  Back outside, Marshall was already in the truck and it was running. I half-expected him to beep the horn a couple of times, but he didn’t. He was wearing a black cowboy hat, pulled low, and his sunglasses, and so I couldn’t tell if he watched me walk to him or not; somehow I was sure he did. He leaned and opened the passenger door for me and then offered his hand to help me in, as though I was climbing onto a wagon seat.

  I couldn’t resist and took his hand; he closed his warm fingers around mine and just this brief touch of his skin felt incredibly good, shockingly so. I settled onto the seat and far too quickly he released my hand to clutch the gear shift, reversing the truck.

  “Is Wy gonna make it?” he asked, and his tone was tinged with humor again, rather than frustration. He looked briefly at me as he backed us down the driveway.

  “You could be a little more patient with him,” I said, indulging myself by looking directly at him before I sent my gaze back out the windshield. I loved how he looked in this cowboy hat, which he must have grabbed from the house; he wore it really, really well and it struck something deep inside of me. He looked so right in it, and I peeked over at him once more, quickly studying his profile.

  Why I was suddenly noticing all of these things about him, I could not have said, noticing his beautiful, naughty eyes and his sexy mouth, the wide curve of his shoulders, the shape of his ears. I could not deny that he had a way about him that made me terribly hot, despite all the reasons that I shouldn’t even acknowledge this. Physically and emotionally raging-hot.

  It’s wrong to feel this way and you know it.

  Besides, he’d just laugh at you if he knew you thought that. What a victory for him.

  And so I looked away.

  “I know I could be more patient,” he acknowledged, driving us west and towards the interstate. He sighed and then said, “And I know it’s not an excuse to say that I’m tired.”

  “We all are,” I allowed, folding my hands together in my lap, like a grade-school student.

  “I’m just not a very patient person,” he said, as though this was some big revelation.

  “Like that’s a secret?” I asked, and at that he did look my way, with a crooked smile.

  “Thanks,” he said drily, smoothing both palms over the top edge of the steering wheel. The truck was back in the foothill country now as Marshall accelerated to take us onto the four-lane, turning to look over his left shoulder as he did so, and I found my gaze moving suddenly to the fly of his faded jeans. For the length of a heartbeat, I imagined what would happen if I leaned over there and pressed my palm against him in that exact spot.

  I was stunned anew at this thought; I would never have considered doing such a thing, even with my own boyfriend back home. I linked my fingers even more tightly and removed my gaze instantly. Marshall looked forward again and my heart felt as though it was being kept in a tiny, overheated box. It wasn’t as though he could read my mind. And hadn’t Marshall just told me that what he was thinking, back in the haymow, would make Liam want to kick his ass?

  So what was it that he was thinking?!

  He’s messing with you, I reminded myself. If he had an ice cube, he’d probably slip it straight down the neck of my t-shirt, just because.

  “You hungry?” he asked me as the truck flew along in the dazzlingly beautiful evening light. The tint of it, the way it washed over the landscape and Marshall’s truck rolling along through it, made my chest ache. The radio was quietly playing a Gary Allan song, “Don’t Look Away,” although what I was singing in my mind was more along the lines of “Can’t Look Away.”

  “Kind-of,” I said, distractedly.

  “What does that mean? That doesn’t help me,” Marshall said. His tone still bordered on moody, but for whatever reason that just made me want to smile. He required a little sweetening up; wasn’t I the perfect person for that?

  But not like that!

  Ruthann, you cannot under any circumstances put your hand on his zipper.

  Even if you want to really, really badly.

  Instead I asked, matching his tone, “Well what would help you? Jeez.”

  I could tell he was smiling a little now, and he replied with subtle humor in his voice, “I just meant that doesn’t help me decide where to stop to get dinner, that’s all.” And then he reached and flicked his finger against my bare left knee, not hard; more as though to get in the last word, non-verbally.

  It was strange to be engaging in this kind of banter. And enjoying myself. Liam never teased me. Liam knew every sort of food that I liked, but then again we’d been together for four years. Of course Liam would know where to take me for dinner, without any sort of confrontation. And Liam would never dream of flicking my leg like that; he would consider that impolite, and if there was one thing I knew about Liam, he would never treat me impolitely.

  “You’re such a baby,” I told Marshall, letting myself vent, reaching to flick his right earlobe, with vigor. He laughed at this, evading. I was laughing, too, aiming again and connecting with the side of his neck
. I kept after him, saying, “I thought Wy was the youngest in your family. Maybe not…maybe you’re the baby…”

  “I am not a baby!” he insisted, and I jabbed my pointer finger into his ribs.

  “You are! You act like a little boy,” I said, thinking again of the summer three years ago.

  Still laughing, he blocked his ribs with his right elbow, his sunglasses falling down to his chin. I quit tickling him and made a triumphant sound, snatching these and settling them over my own face.

  “Thanks,” I said, as he regarded me from under the brim of his black hat. I liked that my eyes were now hidden and his were not.

  “Don’t make me pull over,” he warned, and I could tell he was trying his best to sound very serious.

  “I’m terrified,” I mocked, and he laughed more, shaking his head.

  He reached with deliberate intent and hooked his warm right hand lightly over my left thigh, just above my knee. It was the most ticklish spot on my entire body, not that he could have known such a thing. I fell instantly still, clearly threatened. A giggle escaped my lips and he was smiling smugly.

  “You should be,” his voice low and mock-dangerous.

  There was no way I could let him realize that these words, and this tone, sent a thrill coursing all along my body, outwards from that point of contact on my leg. My eyes flickered to his lean, strong hand, which appeared very tan against the fair, freckled skin of my thigh.

  “You’re not getting them back,” I said, but my voice gave me away; I wasn’t doing a good job of disguising the breathlessness.

  “Really?” he asked, still low, and softly squeezed my leg.

  I couldn’t quite repress a shiver and bit the insides of my cheeks to keep the nearly-hysterical giggles from flying forth. My leg was burning from his touch, burning straight up to the juncture of my thighs. He squeezed again, with just slightly more pressure, and it was either give in or have a heart attack. I yelped, twisting away and saying, “Here!”

  I was such a chicken.

  “Thought so,” he said, his voice ripe with satisfaction. He reclaimed his sunglasses, slipping them into place with a grin at me.