Jeff went to the dining table but Nate followed me into the kitchen. Standing behind me at the stove, he said, “You don’t have to serve him.”
“I don’t mind. I’ll head back to my cabin so you two can have some time together.”
“Absolutely not. Please, join us, I insist.” I looked up into his pleading eyes. “Please?” he asked again.
“Okay.” Apprehension raced through me but it was overcome almost instantly with the desire to please Nate. I was nervous about how his father would perceive me, and I was surprised that I cared so much. I wondered if he would be able to tell that I was uneducated, or if he would think I wasn’t good enough to be around his son. Part of me wanted to run away and never find out what he thought, but then both men had such sincere looks in their eyes, making me feel welcome and not judged. So I decided to stay.
I sat at the table while he and his father talked about sports and fishing and riding horses. Nate seemed lighthearted and happy to be discussing the simpler things in his life. “So, Dad, seriously though, what brought you out here?”
“Well, I rented a car and I thought we could drive down through Wyoming and go to Yellowstone together.”
Nate’s green eyes lit up even brighter. “I would love that.” I reached under the table to his hand and squeezed it. He shot me the purest, most uninhibited smile.
“We’re meeting with the board Friday so we have almost a week to get back.”
Nate’s face fell. “Oh,” he said, suddenly looking very disappointed. I knew he was running away from what he perceived was a monumental career fail. Yet I didn’t get the sense that his father agreed. He seemed very matter-of-fact about it, as if losing patients was just part of the job. But Nate was clearly beating himself up over it.
We wrapped up dinner and did the dishes, then Nate offered to walk me back to my cabin. At the door, he asked if he could come in. I showed him around the inside, which I had recently rid of Jake’s belongings. He held up a picture of me standing in front of Dancer and holding a trophy from the rodeo where I’d met Jake.
“What did you win?”
“I used to barrel race. You know what that is?”
“Of course I do. I live in Los Angeles, not under a rock. Why don’t you race anymore?”
“Dancer is too old, and anyway I used to go to the rodeos with Jake.”
“Oh. Well you can always train a new horse, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.” But what about the other part?
He moved toward several stacks of books crowding my small dining area. “You like to read?”
“Yes.”
“What do you like to read?”
“Everything.” I stood right behind him and when he turned, we were face-to-face.
“Everything?”
“Except romance.”
I looked at his lips. One side of his mouth turned up very subtly and he looked deep into my eyes. My own eyes darted to the ceiling nervously. He took a step toward me and bent his body so that he hovered over me and all I could see was him. I attempted to drop my head down to look at the floor but his fingers tipped my chin up. “Don’t look away. I want to look at you. Can I do that?”
I nodded slowly.
He leaned in and kissed my cheek with a delicate ease before moving to my neck. Near my ear he whispered, “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I said, breathing heavily.
When he tugged on my earlobe with his teeth, I moaned so quietly I thought only I heard it, but he gripped me tighter and whispered, “I like that sound, Ava.”
A tingling heat raged through me, pulsing through my veins from the center of my body and outward to my limbs like tiny stars exploding under my skin.
“I want you. Maybe someday I can have you?”
“Maybe,” I said, breathless.
“We can go slow.”
I let him kiss my mouth and then I pulled away. “But, you’re leaving tomorrow.”
Instead of answering me, he kissed me on the mouth again and I opened for him, our tongues and arms and hands twisted up in each other, full of a passion I hadn’t felt in years. Then he abruptly stepped back and put a hand over his heart. “Come with me. Come with us.”
“I . . . I . . .”
Moving swiftly toward me, he swept me up and against the wall. “God, I have to have you.” He was out of breath. “Please.”
“Nate, I . . .”
He pulled away again and braced my shoulders. “Forget about him.”
My eyes shot open. I was shocked by the harshness of his statement. “What are you saying? How could I forget about him? He was my husband and I loved him. I still love him.”
Anyway, what happened to taking it slow?