“I want you, Daniel. Inside.”
His eyes opened and his head came forward. Never releasing her look, he moved over her, between her legs, as she opened to him. He touched her once, and she gasped, her hips rising up, trying to meet him. He positioned himself, and plunged inside her.
A sob broke from her.
“Kendra–?”
“No–no. It’s good. Oh . . . Daniel.” She wrapped herself around him, kissing his rock-hard arm as he tried to hold himself off her. She drew him down. “So good.”
The power and rhythm built fast and strong. She felt the strain in his muscles as he tried to slow what would not be held back.
“It’s been–”
“–so long.” She arched to meet his next stroke, and there was no holding back. The storm was inside. So was the peace. But the storm held sway now. Violent, awesome, powerful, unpredictable, life-changing. Climbing, howling, moaning, shuddering, crying. Conquering.
And as the storm ebbed, she held onto the peace and to Daniel.
He eased some of his weight off her, but they stayed joined. Just as such mundane matters as time began to assert themselves once more, he withdrew, rolling to the edge of the bed. He snagged a towel from the pile she’d placed on the floor, dealt with the practicalities, then pulled on another condom. And before she could muster the energy or desire to move, he had returned to her.
It was not the powerful stroke of earlier, but a slow, sweet glide. “Slow this time, Kendra. Building from the start.”
*
He propped himself on an elbow, his head resting against his hand as he studied her. She should guard her reactions, decide what she could let him see. Instead, she reveled in the sharp angles of his face, the curve of his lips, the depth of his eyes.
“Kendra?”
“Hmm.”
“This is later.”
She slid her hand down his chest, instructing her nerves to remember–always remember–these textures, these planes and hollows, this sensation. “Later later’s even better.”
He caught her hand as it ventured lower. His chuckle was raspy. “That package only had three condoms in it, and we’ve used them all. Next time–” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “–don’t sell us short. In the meantime, it’s time to tell you–”
Unfamiliar panic swept over her. “It can wait.”
“I’m staying in Wyoming–in Far Hills.”
“What? But your job . . .”
“I quit.”
“Quit,” she repeated, trying to make sense of this. She’d had this thought out, she knew how to react, what to expect. Now he’d dropped a bomb into her order. She sat up, holding the covers to her chin. “Why? When?”
He frowned, but answered readily enough. “Why is because of what you said about how could I be a good father to Matthew if I wasn’t going to be around.”
“But I didn’t mean–”
“For me to quit,” he filled in impatiently. “I know. You meant for me to give up and leave. But I don’t give up that easily, Kendra. Not on things that count. Like Matthew. You were right, though. I couldn’t be a father to Matthew, not the kind I want to be, with that job. So I quit. I went back because I owed my boss a face-to-face.”
“You went back–you quit when you went East? But that was weeks ago. My God, we’ve talked about your job! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to tell you at the same time that I had a new job–at least that’s what I told myself.” His voice turned grim. “I wonder if something told me I’d get this kind of response.”
“I don’t know what kind of response you expect when you tell me you’ve quit your job on a whim–”
“It wasn’t a whim. And I also told you I’m staying in Far Hills. So I might have hoped for a response along the lines of your being glad it won’t have to be the last time for this.”
Her gaze followed the sweep of his hand to indicate the rumpled covers, and their nakedness. Then she met his eyes.
His face stiffened.
“I see. This was meant to be the last time. Sorry to disappoint you, Kendra.” He climbed out of bed, yanking on his jeans. “I’m staying. I got word on my new job before I called. I wanted to surprise you. Guess I did.”
An insidious thread of hope wove into her confusion.
“What kind of new job?”
“Search and rescue. I’ll be training volunteers and coordinating the regional efforts, ground and air.”
The thread snapped.
“It’s just the same. Rescuing people.”
“Once in a while maybe.”
“Like Taumaturgio.”
“It’s nothing like that. And it’s nothing like my old job flying for the government. I would have been gone more than I was around with that job. This will mean some emergency calls, sure, but it’ll be mostly milk runs. Routine. Scanning for a few lost campers.”
“Flying.”
“That’s what I do.”
“It’s what my father did, too.”
A whisper of words came into her mind.
You’ll come back, won’t you . . .?
Yes, I’ll come back.
When had she heard those words? Who–?
Daniel reached for her. “Kendra.”
“No.” She scooted to the far side of the bed so he couldn’t touch her. She didn’t want his sympathy. “I told you, I don’t want Matthew to have to go through having his father take off one day and never return.”
“You can’t guarantee that won’t happen, Kendra, no matter what you do. You said my job with the government was the barrier to putting my name on his birth certificate, Kendra. The job’s gone. So’s your excuse. I’m not going anywhere.”
*
“Sheriff Johnson? This is Kendra Jenner at the Banner.”
“Hey, there Kendra. How’re you doing? This seems to be my week for talking to folks from Far Hills Ranch. Had a call from Marti a few days ago. She’s a sharp one, your aunt.”
“Yes, she is. Sheriff, I heard you might have found someone to fill that post you mentioned–regional trainer and coordinator for search and rescue volunteers.”
He whistled. “You hear things fast. Thought I’d get Lucy to
