“Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Bye, Jo-Jo.” She planted a quick, parting peck on her grandmother’s cheek. “Thanks for understanding. Keith and I really do have a lot to talk about.”
Jo-Jo’s gaze darted from one to the other. “I know you do, sweetheart, but it’s not the talking that I worry about. You’ll take good care of her?” Jo-Jo asked Keith, worry etching lines around her mouth.
“I promise she’s in safe hands with me, Miz Sutton,” he reassured her.
“We’ll call you as soon as we get to Gunnison,” Miranda said.
Keith tossed Miranda’s bag into the back seat and then handed her up into the cab of his truck. She gave him a look of apology when he joined her inside. “I’m sorry if my grandmother gave you the third degree.”
“Doesn’t bother me.” He shrugged, started the engine, and began backing out of the drive. “She doesn’t know me from Adam. It’s only natural she’d worry about you. I’m glad she cares. Everyone needs someone who cares.”
“You speak as if you don’t…have anyone that does.”
He kept his hands on the wheel and his tone light. “Maybe I don’t. At least not anymore. I have a habit of alienating anyone who cares about me.”
“So I guess it didn’t go so well with your grandparents?” she said softly.
“No, it didn’t. I’ve tried to make amends for my mistakes. I cut all ties to my old life. I even cut my hair as an open act of contrition, but my sacrifices have all been in vain.”
“What do you mean you cut your hair? I don’t understand the connection.”
“In my culture, a man’s hair is a source of personal pride. Cutting it is often an act of penance or an expression of profound grief. For me, it was both, but the elders don’t easily forgive or forget.”
“What about the horse?” she asked.
“Let’s just say my grandfather found my gift as lacking as he still finds me.”
“I’m so sorry, Keith. I know that must really hurt.”
He looked away with a shrug. “I screwed up. I have to accept the consequences.”
“Maybe in time…”
His grip tightened on the wheel. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Taking his cue, she quickly changed the subject. “You really surprised me, showing up like you did. I still can’t believe you came all the way up here. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I didn’t think so either,” he replied. “But I’ve thought about you, Aiwattsi. Every day. I missed you, but there just didn’t seem any point in pursuing it, given the distance.”
“Then what changed your mind?”
“You came out here and changed everything. The distance has lessened.”
“Yes.” She leaned toward him. “Less distance is always good.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure they were out of view from the house, and then put the truck in park. He reached for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “I have responsibilities I can’t shirk, but I couldn’t wait to see you…to be with you.”
“Me too,” she whispered back.
He didn’t need any further invitation. He cupped her face, kissing her slowly, lips gently brushing, then hungrily melding. Their tongues tangled. His heart hammered and pulse roared. One kiss had his body almost trembling with want. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized just how much he needed this. Needed her. Soon, he reminded himself.
“Keith?” Desire had darkened her eyes to the color of slate. “Did you really mean what you said about getting separate rooms?”
He ran a thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “I said we could get separate rooms. I never promised we would.”
Chapter 19
Miranda felt like she’d crawl out of her skin with anticipation as the truck slowly ate up the miles of highway between Montana and Utah. For the past two hours they’d stolen sidelong glances, both outwardly ignoring the sexual tension that electrified the air. They’d carried on sporadic spurts of small talk, while under it all every muscle felt tight and every nerve ending twitchy.
Casting another covert glance, she studied his profile, the high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, strong, masculine nose, and full, sensuous mouth, fixing on the last. Her insides quivering at the thought of those soft and knowing lips, on how he’d used his mouth on her body, on her sex. From the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, she was hyperaware of him.
“Don’t you get lonely, driving as much as you do?” she asked, breaking another long silence.
“Sometimes,” he said. “But I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve been traveling for a long time. Off and on for eight years.”
“I wouldn’t think the time would make it any easier. Does it?”
“No. Not really,” he confessed.