Chance Encounter

“From Lucy?”

“No.” He looked at her strangely. “From San Francisco.”

“Oh, yeah.” From “home.” She seemed to keep forgetting that Wyoming wasn’t where she belonged.

“It was Maggie.” He watched her with a frustrated heat and intensity that still, after all these weeks, made her knees weak.

What did he want from her? She hadn’t a clue. She slipped a bottle of water out of her backpack and took a drink because she had no idea what to say or do. Closing her eyes, she let the warm sun dance over her face.

When he suddenly took her shoulders in his big, warm hands and turned her to face him, she squeaked in surprise. His jaw was doing that bunching thing, reminding her that no matter what he wanted her to believe, he did care.

His eyes were dark, so very dark, and before she could say a word, he captured her head in his hands, lifted her face and took her mouth.

With a thunk, her backpack hit the ground.

Her water hit next.

And he kissed her even harder, deeper, creating a delicious need she couldn’t deny. She went instantly hot and trembly. Her body’s immediate reaction both surprised and alarmed her because no one had ever done this to her before. No one but Chance, and she let out a sound that was pure heartfelt relief, wrapping her arms around him to wholly return the kiss, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel.

It was hot. Messy. Glorious.

He buried his hands in her hair, and when she did the same, he moaned from deep in his throat and pushed even closer, shoving a hard denim-clad thigh between hers, nearly making her pass out from the exquisite torture. Without breaking away, he gentled them both by nibbling at one corner of her mouth, then the other, tracing her lips with his tongue before sweeping it back against hers for another long, hot assault, devouring her. And his hands…they moved over her now, over her back, her bottom, then to her hips, his own rocking, grinding, bringing them both to a fevered pitch. She was drowning, she was dying, she was-

Blinking at him in shock when he abruptly pulled away and scowled at her.

“Dammit,” he growled out, backing away from her as if she had the plague. “Dammit.”

“What…” She had to clear her throat to speak. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. It was just a kiss.”

Just a kiss.

That had been just a kiss?

Well she was certainly glad he’d cleared that up for her because she’d been quite positive it had been more, far more, as in something from the heart, from the soul. Her lips tingled, and she brought a hand up to them. They were wet, and aching for more. This was bad, very bad, because it wasn’t just her body yearning for more, either. Nope, her heart hurt, too. And that’s what scared her.

“I want to stay away from you,” he said. “I mean to stay away from you.”

“Well you’re not doing a very good job.”

“I’m going to try harder.”

“Good. Because…” Her throat tightened. Just looking at him was bad for her mental health. She wanted him, plain and simple. And he wanted her, too; she knew that. But he didn’t want to want her, and that hurt more than it should.

Suddenly she missed her old world. Her old, quiet world. Okay, maybe it hadn’t been so quiet. Maybe she’d been too busy taking care of everyone but herself, but at least she hadn’t hurt like this. “I want my old life back,” she whispered.

He nodded curtly. “Then go get it.”

So simple. So why, then, did it seem so hard?

10

CHANCE SPENT THE next few moments morosely watching Ally’s all too nice behind as it wiggled its way farther up the mountain. She wore khaki shorts and a snug fitting T-shirt with a fleece vest. The material clung to her every curve in a way that made thinking a calculated effort. The insistent ache in his groin urged him to grab her back, beg forgiveness for being an insensitive jerk so that he could bury himself deep inside her and assuage this crazy need.

She wasn’t speaking to him.

His only defense was that she’d kissed him stupid. Completely, utterly, one-hundred-percent stupid. Again.

I want my old life back. Her words echoed in his head. At least she knew enough to know she didn’t belong here. From the moment she’d first gotten off the plane and looked at him with those huge eyes, she’d done nothing but complicate his life.

They were high up on the mountain now, on the edge of the burned acreage, where the fire had done the most damage. No longer did the fresh twigs crunch beneath their feet. Instead, the charred landscape gave way without a sound. Eerie, and infinitely sad.

He stood there on the line between the living and the dead, his senses assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke and burnt pine. In spite of their work up here, it would be years before the land repaired itself, and with a deep, unsettled sigh, he started moving again. “I have no idea what you think you’re going to find.”

Ally, looking as grim and shaken at the sight as he did, just kept walking, searching…all the while ignoring him. Which maybe, when he thought about it, worked in his favor. If she wasn’t talking to him, wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t driving him crazy, then he couldn’t ache for her. Soon Lucy would come back, Ally would go, and his life could return to normal. “Ally?”

She kept moving, head high, shoulders stiff, determination blazing from her every pore. God, she was something. Had he really ever thought her fragile? Vulnerable? Easily dismissed?

“Look!” she cried suddenly. “Look at this tree!”

It hadn’t burned. The fire had leaped, sparing a square piece of land about twenty feet across. A little miracle.

What held her interest was a huge, old pine tree. Right at shoulder height was a spot bare of bark, where someone had carved it smooth. In the spot was an etched heart. And the initials B.H. + M.M.

“Brian,” Ally whispered, reaching up above the heart where a blue scarf had been set. “Brian Hall.” Spinning in a circle, she laughed, arms spread out wide. Then, in a move that completely shocked him, she flung herself into his arms and squeezed him tight.

She was soft and warm and smelled incredible, and his body reacted immediately, violently.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, oblivious to his reaction. Still grinning, she pulled away. But when she caught him staring at her, probably with the hottest look of undisguised, unadulterated hunger she’d ever seen, her smile faded. Self-consciously, she tugged at her vest. “This must be where Brian and his secret girlfriend get together.”

“You’re reaching now.”

“No, look. It rained two days ago, yet this scarf-Brian’s scarf-is perfectly dry and clean, which means it had to be brought here recently, right? As in maybe even the day of the fire. That girl, whoever M.M. is, can provide an alibi for Brian.”

“Maybe.”

“Probably,” she repeated stubbornly.

“It’s not a bad make-out spot,” he said, looking around at the thick trees, at the lush growth underfoot, all of which had been spared certain death by the firefighters. It was private, and he could imagine pressing Ally back against the tree, could imagine stripping her slowly, then burying himself between her soft thighs.

“It’s definitely a spot for lovers.” There was no mistaking her soft voice, her dreamy little sigh.

Which served as a vivid reminder that his prim little Ally wasn’t so prim after all.

“Not that I condone them coming here,” she said quickly. “They’re far too young. But there’s something