Lynna Banning - High Country Hero

Now she was “all growed up” as her father put it, and it wasn’t fun. Not with rainwater sluicing off her hat and a sopping wet riding skirt clinging to her legs. The brown denim material made a swish - slap sound with every step the horse took.

As the morning wore on, the sky grew darker. Rain dribbled in rivulets off the toes of her boots, splashed onto the ground and made the already sodden trail even more slippery. She reached one gloved hand to pat the mare’s neck. “Good girl,” she murmured. “We will soldier on.”

Sage had picked up the phrase from her father, had used it at medical college when things had seemed insurmountable—dissecting her first cadaver under the eagle eye of three professors ready to pounce on a false move; fending off the rude, hurtful jests by her male colleagues when a patient happened to be female; even forcing herself to eat when she was so tired just opening her mouth took more energy than she could muster.

She had soldiered on. Hour by hour, day by day. More than her examinations and flawless oral presentations, her medical degree had come through dogged perseverance.

A little thing like rain might be cold and wet and uncomfortable, but it wouldn’t stop her.

But the river, when they reached it, did. It rippled deep green and turquoise around a cluster of water-smoothed gray boulders and a half-sub-merged fir stump.

“Why,” she said to the man who drew rein at her side, “did we climb up that butte yesterday only to unclimb it today? Why not just go around it?”

He studied the riverbank, the waterlogged tree, then the opposite bank. “Because you can see the whole valley from up there.”

“And be seen, as well.”

He hesitated. “True.”

He dismounted and shucked off his poncho. “River won’t be this smooth for long. It’ll rise with the creek runoff.” He began to unbutton his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Going swimming.” He pulled off his boots, rolled them up inside his shirt and poncho and tied them behind the saddle. Raindrops rolled down his bare chest and back.

“Now? In the rain?”

He flashed her a grin. “If you’ve never gone swimming in the rain, you ought to try it. Rain makes the water seem warm, feels good against your skin. Like silk.”

He slapped the mare’s rump. “Come on, Sugar.” When the horse jolted forward, he splashed into the river alongside her.

Sage watched his half-clothed body slice through the water. Halfway across he rolled onto his back, stretched both arms wide and opened his mouth wide to the rain. “Goddamn, this feels good,” he called. “Care to join me?”

She sat frozen on her horse. “What on earth for?” she shouted.

“For pleasure, pure and simple.” She thought she heard a low laugh, but she wasn’t sure.

“It’s one good way to get across the river,” he added in a lazy voice. “Besides, my trousers are getting washed at the same time.”

Oh, God, the river . She had to cross it, too.

She couldn’t swim fully clothed. She’d have to take off her rain gear, then her shirt, her riding skirt. Her boots. She could strip down to her camisole and underdrawers, but he would be watching and…

Does it really feel like silk?

In her entire life, she had never done anything just for pleasure alone. She’d gone camping to learn about medicinal herbs and roots. She’d even kissed a boy once, but only because someone dared her to, and she never backed away from a challenge.

But just to feel…silky? It seemed indecent, somehow. Decadent.

This was crazy. He was crazy.

And yet…

Chapter Five

Cord lay spread-eagled in the water, sculling his cupped hands to keep from drifting downstream. He let the raindrops beat on his face and chest as he watched her horse dance back and forth on the sandy riverbank while its rider tried to make up her mind about something. To swim across or ride across, he guessed. Not a big decision; the water was only four, maybe five feet deep.

Swimming in the rain is a real sensual pleasure, Doc . So why not swim across and enjoy the experience? Lord knew there weren’t that many real pleasures in this world. When one dropped into your lap, you ought to savor it.

She stepped her mount to the river’s edge, studied the wavelets lapping at the mare’s hooves, then reined the animal away.

What is she waiting for? The rain had already drenched her; she looked sodden and miserable, with her head down, her shoulders hunched. She was probably shivering so hard her teeth chattered. Wet is wet, Doc. Choose the way that feels good .

“Can you swim?” he yelled.

“Yes, I can.”

“Well, come on, then.”

“I am not familiar with this part of the river. I…don’t know if it’s safe.”

Safe? “Hell, Doc, I’m out here in the middle of it. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“ I am not you , Mr. Lawson. I like to know what is, well, what is beneath the surface before I plunge into something.”

“Can’t always know that.”

“I am r-realizing th-that.”

Jehoshaphat, she was so cold she was starting to stutter. “Take a chance, dammit!”

Once more she turned the horse away from the river.

Snakes and sawdust! Maybe she just plain didn’t know how to enjoy herself.

But when she turned back, her hand was at her throat, unbuttoning her black rain poncho. Then her red plaid shirt. She dismounted and fumbled at the waistband of her skirt, then stepped out of it and shucked off her boots. Standing there in nothing but her white drawers and a lacy camisole, she looked like a butterfly whose cocoon had just been peeled away.

Cord sucked in a breath. You see a woman naked and it changes things . He stopped sculling and let the water close over his head. When he surfaced, she was rolling up her clothes and boots in the poncho. She stashed the bundle behind the saddle, hooked the reins around the pommel and waded into the water. The mare followed at a respectful distance.

Cord wasn’t watching the mare. The thin, wet fabric of her underclothes plastered itself to her knees, her thighs. She moved slowly, very slowly, using her arms for balance and testing each step tentatively before she put down her weight. Her body broke the smooth surface with scarcely a ripple. Up to her waist now. Higher, higher…

Oh, hell yes! Under the wet camisole her breasts showed clearly, like mounds of some perfectly formed fruit with a dark aureola marking each center. Oh, God, she was beautiful . He couldn’t look away.

Then with a splash she was swimming, clean, sharp strokes that cut the water with no noise. A man had taught her, he could see that. Her father, or her uncle, the marshal. At least Cord hoped so. All at once he couldn’t stand the thought of another male’s hands touching her.

She swam to within a foot of where he lay and, without slowing, glided on past. Her eyes, he noted, were scrunched shut. He rolled onto his stomach and stroked after her.

She reached the sandy beach ahead of him and waded out of the water, her backside gleaming wetly under the clinging muslin. Cord’s arms stopped working and he stifled the groan that rose from his belly, a growl of pure male hunger.

And then his sex rose and grew hard.

She caught the mare’s bridle as it clambered up the bank, then turned and stood waiting for him, her face composed.

Cord swam into the shallows, but his member was so engorged he didn’t dare stand up. Instead, he folded his knees and huddled on the sandy river bottom. He’d have to play for time.

“Enjoy your swim?”

“Yes, I did.” She gave him a tentative smile. “I swam all the way across,” she said unnecessarily. She beamed like a kid watching a parade, as if she was proud of herself.