«More rain?»
«Probably.»
«When?»
«After sunset.»
Willow sighed. «I was told the plains were dry.»
«They are. You’re in the mountains now. But compared to where you came from, it’s plenty dry. That’s why you keep licking your lips.»
«I do?»
«You sure do, honey. If you’re carrying any oil in that big old carpetbag of yours, you might put some on. Bacon grease works, but you get tired of the taste real fast.»
For a few moments there was only the whisper of soft bristles moving through Willow’s long hair. She closed her eyes and savored the unexpected luxury of having her hair brushed by someone other than herself. Then a thought struck her.
«How will you catch the trout?»
«Same way I did last night.»
«How was that?»
«With my hands.»
Willow turned and looked over her shoulder with wide hazel eyes. «You’re teasing me.»
«Maybe a little.» Caleb’s nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of her oncemore. Butnot as much as I’m teasing myself. «Close your eyes, you’re distracting me.»
«If I close my eyes, will you tell me how you really catch trout?»
«Sure.»
Long amber eyelashes lowered until they rested against Willow’s smooth skin. Sunshine caught and tangled in the thick lashes, making tiny, iridescent flashes of light. Caleb watched, fascinated, wanting to run the tip of his tongue over the soft fringe.
«My eyes are closed,» Willow pointed out when Caleb didn’t speak.
«I noticed. How did you get such long eyelashes, honey?»
«I stole them from a calf.»
He laughed softly, shaking his head at her quickness.
«Caleb,» she said coaxingly, «how do you catch trout with your bare hands? I’ve never heard of anyone doing that.»
«Not even Matthew Moran?»
She shook her head. «Not even Matt.»
With a rumbling sound of satisfaction, Caleb resumed brushing Willow’s hair, admiring its shine and softness. When he began to talk again, there was a subtle difference in his touch, a lingering over the nape of her neck, a tracing of the long tendrils that curled down her arm, a sensuous stroking down the length of her spine that encouraged her to arch against his palm like a cat.
«First of all,» Caleb said deeply, «you have to find trout that haven’t been scared out of their pretty little scales by a southern lady taking a bath in their parlor.»
Willow laughed behind her hand.
«It’s true,» he said, tugging teasingly at a lock of hair. «Trout are like beautiful girls, flighty creatures that take a lot of soothing before they can be caught.»
The brush moved from Willow’s crown to her nape, followed by Caleb’s hand. Long fingers eased beneath the heavy strands and skimmed over the curve of her neck. She shivered, wondering if the touch had been accidental. His fingers skimmed over he neck once more, tracing the hairline with a caress as light as a breath.
«So a man with trout on his mind walks softly and sort of eases up to the edge of the brook,» Caleb continued, his voice as lazy andmurmurous as the breeze. «Then he kneels down real slow and easy like, and slides his hand into the water behind a trout.»
As Caleb spoke, his big hand gathered up the golden mass of Willow’s hair and lifted so that he could brush from beneath. Some of the strands slipped away from his fingers, for the hair caught on the big buttons of the cavalry shirt she wore. Setting the brush aside, he began to gently untangle her shining hair from the buttons. No sooner did one strand come free than another slithered from his grasp and fell forward, becoming trapped and tangled on a button.
«Damn,» Caleb said softly, using both hands to corral Willow’s silky hair. «This isn’t working. Lift your arms up, honey. Higher. That’s it.»
Caleb peeled the shirt from Willow’s body so matter-of-factly that she didn’t think to object until it was too late.
«Caleb, I don’t —»
«Once your hand is in the water,» Caleb continued, talking over Willow’s words, «then you just stay real still for a time, as though you had nothing on your mind but sitting and dreaming by a meadow stream.»
The brush glided through Willow’s hair once more, sending shivers of pleasure over her scalp, shivers that were only increased by the soothing hand that followed each stroke of the brush. The strands that fell forward no longer tangled around buttons, but instead fanned in a golden veil over her camisole. The full curves of her breasts pressed up against the fine lace.
While Willow watched, tendrils of hair slid away from her breasts, leaving the peaks barely covered. She bit her lip, wondering if her hair concealed the outlines of her body enough for decency.
«It’s all right,» Caleb said softly, sensing the tension in Willow. He stroked the shining hair that fanned over her shoulders and back. «Your hair covers as much of you as my shirt did. Unless you’re cold?»
She shook her head, making light ripple and twist sinuously through her hair. «The sun is almost hot.»
«Yes, it is.»
Caleb’s voice was so low it was like a purr from a big cat, as much felt as heard. Without breaking rhythm, he continued brushing Willow’s hair with slow, gentle movements until she sighed and relaxed once more, giving herself to a pleasure that was so acute it made sweet chills course over her skin.
«That feels so good,» Willow whispered finally.
«To me, too,» Caleb said, running his hand lightly down her hair. He laughed softly. «I think your hair likes me as much as I like it.»
Willow made a questioning sound.
«Watch,» he said.
The brush followed thick ribbons of hair that had fallen over Willow’s right shoulder and fanned out over her breast.
«See?» He lifted the brush slowly. Shining strands of hair rose languidly, clinging to the brush and to the edge of his hand. «It’s chasing me.»
For an instant, Willow was too shocked to speak. The soft bristles of the brush moving lightly over her breast had stroked it into vivid life, cashing a rush of sensation that left her weak. She closed her eyes as a curious heat radiated suddenly from the pit of her stomach. The sensation was both piercing and sweet, unlike anything she had ever known before.
«Let’s see if the other side likes me as well,» Caleb said in a low voice.
The brush stroked softly over Willow’s left breast, which also was veiled by a fall of golden hair. When the brush lifted, filaments of bright hair followed, clinging to the brush and the made hand that held it.
«Yes,» he said huskily, looking at the breast whose tight peak parted the golden veil of hair, «I believe it does.»
Willow could say nothing at all. Her breath was lodged in her throat as another trembling rush of sensation claimed her. When Caleb heard the break in her breathing, his own body responded with a violent surge, his heartbeat deepening and quickening until he could count each pulse in the rigid flesh between his legs. He had expected Willow to leap up an push away his hands or to turn angrily on him for daring to touch her even with the brush.
He hadn’t expected her breasts to blossom at a single touch until her nipples pouted in shades of pink beneath the nearly transparent camisole. The intense sensuality of her response was as startling as the depth of
