Vicki Lewis Thompson - Do You Take This Cowboy?

She needed no encouragement to wrap both arms around his solid torso and scoot against his firm backside. Riding on the back of an ATV with Austin immediately became her favorite outdoor activity. What a great excuse to get up close and personal with a guy who not only looked good but felt even better.

The ride ended long before she was ready to let go of him. He pulled into a clearing with a boundary marked by rocks spaced a few inches apart. Beyond them the brush, mostly sage, grew three to four feet high.

But now they’d stopped and she felt obliged to climb off, darn it. She had a nice buzz going and she had the crazy urge to ask if that had been as good for him as it had been for her.

When he just sat there while he took a couple of deep breaths, she had a feeling it had been.

“Lordy.” His low chuckle was followed by a long sigh. “Maybe I should have taken you to a restaurant in town, after all.”

“Oh?”

“I knew I was attracted to you, but I thought I could manage a short ATV ride. Turns out it affected me more than I thought it would.” He climbed off the four-wheeler and faced her. “But everything’s under control now.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I promise you’re safe with me.”

She met his gaze. “If it makes you feel any better, the drive turned me on, too.”

Heat flared in his eyes.

She felt obliged to add one more fact. “But we just met.”

“Only hours ago.”

“At this point it wouldn’t be about you and me as individuals with histories and personality quirks. It would be like strangers scratching an itch. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I—”

“I didn’t invite you out here to scratch an itch. I’m past that stage in my life.”

“Good. So am I. Come to think of it, I never went through that stage.” She noticed a folded blanket on top of a metal ice chest but that was probably so they’d have a place to sit. “I’ve always wanted to get to know someone first.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s good we’re agreed on that.” Definitely good. Maybe. Except he wasn’t some guy she’d met in a bar. She knew his foster family. She knew he’d been to New Zealand. She knew he could fix a clogged sink. “I see you’ve toted everything out here already, so let’s have our meal and swap stories.”

“That was my plan.” He gestured toward the campsite he’d set up. “Welcome to our dining room. That little fire pit is strictly for ambiance. I’m using the Coleman stove to make dinner. Cooking over a campfire gives you lots of atmosphere but it can also give you undercooked or overcooked food.”

“A Coleman stove sounds fine. I have one myself.”

“You do? I thought you didn’t cook.”

“I don’t when I have alternatives, but I camp out quite a bit when I’m shooting nature videos. I love my coffee in the morning and scrambled eggs are nice to go with it. What can I do to help?”

“The cooking’s my deal, but you can light the campfire if you want. I left some matches next to it.”

“Looks like you thought of everything.” She walked over and crouched next to the fire pit where he’d arranged kindling and a couple of larger logs. Extra wood was stacked nearby. She recognized a fire laid by someone who knew what he was doing and sure enough, it caught with one match. “Done.”

“Then all you have to do is keep an eye on it and add a log if you think it needs one. You can have a seat on the blanket and I’ll get you something to drink.”

“I won’t object to that.” She found a good spot for the blanket, folded it so two could fit and sat down. The clearing had been raked recently but she’d guess the rocks defining the perimeter had been there for years.

“You know what?” He opened the ice chest. “I should have asked you about the wine instead of making an assumption because you’re Italian.”

“You brought Chianti.”

“No, I brought a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.” He held it up. “The assumption was that you were a wine drinker. Like I said, I should have asked.”

“I am a wine drinker and I’m glad it’s not Chianti. I can have that anytime just by walking in the back door of Martinelli’s and asking for a glass.”

“All righty, then.” He twisted off the screw top. “It was going to be this or water. I didn’t bring anything else to drink.” He took out two chilled glasses and handed her one. “I had this when I was over there and really liked it.” He poured them each some wine.

“I’m sure I will, too.” She lifted her glass in his direction. “Here’s to adventure.”

“To adventure.” He tapped his glass to hers. “That’s a good thing to toast.”

“I haven’t had nearly as much adventure as you, I’m afraid.” She took a slow sip. “Nice wine.”

“Then I lucked out. Here’s hoping the meal works for you, too.”

“Since I rarely cook, almost any food made by someone else works for me.”

“This is a skillet dish a trail guide buddy created.” Setting his wine on the ground beside him, he hunkered down, turned on the stove and began pulling ingredients out of the ice chest. “It’s flexible regarding ingredients. Some kind of white fish, vegetables you have on hand and rice.”

“Sounds gourmet.”

“My friend’s a talented guy. Once every two weeks we offered an overnight trail ride. He was the chef on those outings.”

“I’m betting you were in charge of the fire.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Drew savored her wine. “Your life over there seems exotic and wonderful. I’m a little surprised you didn’t stay.”

“I wanted to spend enough time there that I felt the rhythm of the place in my bones.” He tended his stir-fry dinner. “But I always knew I’d come back here.”

“I like that idea—absorbing a place until you feel the rhythm in your bones. That’s what I try to do when I shoot a video. I think I’m almost there with Thunder Mountain.” She took another swallow of wine. “You’re a bit of a philosopher, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know about that, but ever since I saw The Lord of the Rings I’ve been into books. I might’ve read that phrase somewhere so don’t give me too much credit.”

“What books?”

“Anything about adventure, courage, honor, stuff like that. A librarian steered me toward The Iliad and The Odyssey. If I’d known that was serious literature I never would have read them. I’d taken enough teasing for Lord of the Rings.”

“But you liked them?”

“Sure did.” He paused to drink some wine. “My dad was kind of an epic hero. That’s probably why I related to those stories.”

She went very still. She knew this was important information but she didn’t know how to get him to elaborate. Finally, she decided to make it simple. “Would you tell me about your dad?”

His answer was slow in coming, but at last he spoke. “He was in Search and Rescue.”

She slowly let out her breath and waited for the story to unfold.

“A minor avalanche had trapped a family of five. My dad was on the team that went in to get them out.” He kept his attention on his cooking, carefully stirring the mixture in the pan. “They rescued everyone except the family dog. My dad went back for the dog and a second avalanche hit. The dog jumped out of his arms when he saw his family and ran to them. But when he jumped, he threw my dad off balance. He couldn’t get up fast enough.”

“That’s rough.”

He switched off the burner and put a lid on the pan. “It was rough, especially because I was only six and idolized him.” Standing, he reached into a basket next to the cooler and took out plates, napkins and utensils. “My mom must have been torn apart by the news, but she said all the right things to me—that my dad had died doing what he loved and he’d helped save the family and their beloved pet.”