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As the sun set on yet another productive day spent in the comfort of his leather office chair – his Australian stock saddle – Connor decided to call it a day and head home to his haven. He’d finally reached the bottom of his seemingly never-ending list of chores, and now grease splattered his shirt, dust was engrained in every pore and he felt drier than the Simpson Desert.
He couldn’t wait to scull an icy-cold beer and stand beneath the stream of a hot shower until his aching muscles uncoiled. Maybe he might even do both at once. And why the heck not? You only live once. Which was the mantra Samantha seemed to have been embracing when he’d caught her in the act of boogying her cute little butt off early this morning. Just recalling her dancing like she didn’t have a care in the world made him smile. Arms high and eyes closed, her face tipped to the bright blue sky and her feet tapping fast, she had appeared to be in a world of her own, and in that instant he’d wanted to join her in that place where she appeared to be at total peace. Since her return home he hadn’t seen her so soft, relaxed and happy, and there was something about the sweetest of vulnerability that came with that, that made him want her all the more. He’d wanted to reach out and possess the woman she’d become, and the teenage girl that had once been his for those few magical hours, but he’d reined himself in. It had been mighty tough, with her hand upon his chest and her beautiful lips so close, not to lean in and kiss her like he damn well meant it, like he damn well craved to. But after stuffing up a few nights ago, he wasn’t about to do anything else that would upset the friendship they’d reformed. Besides, for all he knew, she was still a married woman who just didn’t wear her wedding ring.
Arriving at his back door, he kicked his boots off and stepped inside. Thoughts of Samantha remained with him as he flicked light switches, washed his hands, turned his stereo on and turned up George Strait’s honky-tonk voice, grabbed a beer and headed straight for the shower, where he stripped off, cracked his longneck open and stepped beneath the spray of water with an audible ahhhhh. Ever since running into her, literally, he hadn’t been able to shake her from his mind, and he didn’t want to – he’d enjoyed many little smiles to himself today, all because of her. If only she knew just how much of an effect she had on him. If only she knew how he’d treat her like the most precious piece of art on this earth if she were his. If-onlys really did suck. And so did the maybes. Day by day, each time he got to spend exquisite time with her, he was finding himself more in tune with her than he cared to be. If only things could be different. If only she wasn’t going away – again. Once upon a time, in a time and place far, far away, they’d had a chance for a possible happily ever after.
And they’d gone and blown it.
Royally.
Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the coolness of the tiles as the stream of hot water pummelled his lower back. And just like that, he was back there, with her, both of them heartbroken eighteen-year-olds. The image of her collapsing into his arms the night before his brother’s cremation, sobbing hard against his shoulder as she’d clung to him tightly, was seared into his brain like a brand. In that poignant moment swirling with grief and loss and torturous regrets, she’d been all he’d ever known, and all he’d ever wanted. She’d been his best friend, his confidante, his everything. She’d been exposed, vulnerable, unguarded, yielding to his touch, hungry for a union with him, as if she’d been desiring it for as long and as much as he’d been. With her captivating aura of fire and air, and her glorious copper locks framing her perfectly freckle-dusted, creamy white cheeks, she’d pushed him back, climbed on top of him, and after he’d been ever so gentle with her, they’d made the sweetest, deepest of love all night long. Learning he was her first that night, he’d believed they were going to be together forever from that moment on. Yet, the very next morning, straight after Angus’s funeral, she’d left town without a word, and he’d been left to mourn the loss of her, and of them, and now she was back and a whole different person. Seemingly strong and centred, and extremely womanly on the outside, he knew she was still that vulnerable, wild, carefree Sammie he knew all too well beneath her armour. The impact of the woman she’d become had at first shocked him, but now it made him want her more than he ever had as a teenager with a childhood crush.
Turning off the taps and stepping from the shower, he dried off as he tried to chase thoughts of Sammie from his mind. But it was an impossible task. So he gave up trying. His stomach growled, then growled again as he tugged on a pair of boxer shorts. Food was next on his agenda. And after a dinner of bacon and eggs, topped with lashing of baked beans, he took the contemplations of her to dreamland with him where they were living the life he daydreamed of having while awake.
The following morning, feeling as if he’d spent the night with Samantha after dreaming about her all night long, Connor found himself feeling a little coy as he pulled to a stop beneath the jacaranda tree, climbed out and strolled towards where she was sitting, seemingly enthralled by the goings-on in the round yard. In a world of her own, totally unaware he was approaching, she was a sight for him to behold. She was perched on the top rung of the timber fence, her long jean-clad legs dangling over the side, and with the sun straight in front of her the wide-brimmed hat didn’t do much to shade her pretty face. With her freckles more pronounced than ever, he liked the fact that she hadn’t covered them up with make-up today. The more natural Samantha Evans was, the more captivating he found her. And it wasn’t just her outward beauty that mesmerised him; heck no, it was the way her head tipped a little to the side, and her lips pursed in concentration, as she watched the horse and its rider strutting about the round yard. She didn’t hear him approach, nor did she feel his presence when he was only a metre from her, and her innocent obliviousness allowed him a few more precious heartbeats of drinking her beauty in deeply. And in the space of those few heart-pounding seconds, he felt a scorching, ferocious rush of sensations – desire, need, protectiveness, a boundless connection that couldn’t be explained with words, it simply had to be felt, and he felt it deep down in his heart and soul right now. So much so, he wanted to reach for her, so he could pull her close and hold her safe and loved in his arms forever.
For F’s sake, Connor, get a bloody grip, would you.
He took another step and leaves crunched beneath his boots. ‘Howdy doody, Sammie.’
Startling, she spun to see him standing there, staring at her. ‘Connor, hey, my goodness, I didn’t even hear you pull up.’ Her hand went to her chest. ‘You seriously have to stop sneaking up on me like that, or you’re going to give a girl a bloody heart attack.’
‘Sorry ’bout that.’ He gave the brim of his hat a tug. ‘I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’ He quickly pulled together all the parts of himself that she so effortlessly affected, and flashed her a smile. ‘How’s she going?’ Looking towards where Shea was giving the new mare cues, he joined Samantha at the railing, his boot heel on the bottom rung and his arms folded on the middle one.
‘Yeah, really good, I think.’ She offered him a smile warmer than the scorching rays hitting his back. ‘Shea reckons she’s coming along in leaps and bounds since you suggested changing her feed.’
‘Awesome.’ He nodded assertively – gratified he’d helped out with a simple suggestion that Shea had noted. ‘That’s real good to hear.’
They fell comfortably silent until Shea finished her training session and skilfully pulled the dutiful horse to a stop. Spotting him now, Shea offered Connor a wave and he mirrored her friendly gesture. ‘Is Jack around the traps, Sammie?’ He peered from left to right, noting Jack’s ute was missing from its usual parking spot. ‘I need a hand with something.’
‘He’s not, he had to duck into town for an appointment, but can I help?’ She jumped to the ground, and as she looked up to him from beneath the shade of her hat, her meltingly soft gaze did unspeakable things to him.
‘Thanks … ’ He realised he’d chuckled a second too late and, wiping the smirk from his face, he quickly added, ‘but I don’t think it’s something you can help me with.’
‘Is that so?’ She pulled a brash face and squared her shoulders. ‘Are you saying I’m not capable, Gunn?’
‘No, and yes.’ He couldn’t help the playful grin beginning to resurface. ‘Sorry, but, yeah, I am saying that, sort of.’ He grimaced at her sudden frown. ‘Sorry,’ he repeated.
‘Okay, so tell me.’ Smiling haughtily, she folded her arms tightly. ‘Why is it, that you think I’m not capable?’ She held her hand up to halt his reply. ‘Does it have anything to do with me being a woman?’
She looked so determined, so rebellious, it was downright sexy. ‘No, of course it doesn’t.’ The way he wanted her right now, oh my god, it made him feel like a savage. ‘You’re really, how do I put this? Citified, now.’
Heat rose to her cheeks and he couldn’t tell whether it was because she was embarrassed, or really pissed off. Knowing Samantha Evans like he did, he suspected the latter.
Her chin jutted out, and she seemed to stand taller. ‘Well, I beg to differ.’
‘You do, do you?’ He couldn’t help but egg her on a little – she was hot when she was insubordinate.
‘Damn straight I do.’ Her hands flew to her hips, and clung there. ‘So why not let me prove it to you?’
He shrugged, and nodded his head. ‘Yeah, righto, why the hell not?’
A phone chimed and she plucked a mobile from her back pocket. Holding it up, she looked at the screen and a swear word mouthed on her kissable lips as her smile was swept away by a deep frown.
‘Bugger off,’ she grumbled as she stabbed a button, and then crammed the phone back into her jeans. Arriving back in the present moment, she smiled again, but this time it was forlornly. ‘Sorry, what were we talking about?’
‘You coming to give me a hand.’ He gestured to where the phone had gone into her back pocket. ‘Dare I ask who that was?’
