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“What’s wrong?” he demanded, impatient to get going.
“I assume I’ll have to ride astride.”
“Yes.”
She bit her lip, looking uncertain. “My skirts …”
He gave a heavy sigh. “Did you ride astride on your way here?”
“Yes, but I was alone. And I tried to make sure no one saw me.”
Bram bit off the reminder that last night he’d seen a damn sight more than her stockings or petticoats. The memory of her full breasts and slender thighs revealed by the lamplight shining through the thin cloth of her chemise was seared on his brain.
“You’ll be behind me, so I won’t see anything. Besides, you wouldn’t last two minutes if you tried to ride sitting to the side.”
After a moment she stepped to the edge of the porch. He gripped her forearm and swung her up behind him. She didn’t weigh anything.
She shifted, tugging her skirts down on one side then the other. Every time she moved, her soft full breasts brushed his back. He couldn’t stand much of that.
Jaw tight, he pressed the mare’s reins into Deborah’s hand. “You lead Cosgrove’s horse.”
“All right.”
From the corner of his eye he caught a flash of a white stocking and the hem of her pale blue floral dress. He glanced over his shoulder, her silky hair tickling his neck.
“Ready?” he asked gruffly.
When she said yes, he urged his horse into motion. Deborah fell full against him, her oomph of breath burning through his shirt.
“Oh!” She jerked away, startling Scout, who gave a backward hop to keep his balance. Deborah bounced against Bram.
“Be still,” he ordered.
“Sorry.” She sat stiffly, quietly at his back, holding herself away from him.
Fine with him. All he had to do was get her home and deliver her to her family. He wouldn’t let her get to him.
Scout started down a steep hill and Deborah pitched to one side, yelping.
Bram grabbed for her, his hand clamping down on whatever limb he could reach because of her odd angle behind him. He steadied her at his back, registering a froth of skirts over his arm and a thin layer of fabric under his fingers. Fabric like … undergarments. Drawers.
He froze. So did she.
He realized then that his hand was up her skirts, high on her thigh. Beneath his touch, he felt a whisper of muscle. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to have Deborah making a sound deep in her throat.
A kind of sighing moan that made Bram’s body go hard.
He jerked his hand back, batting away the yards of fabric.
“Hang on to … something,” he growled, irritated at the low throb in his blood.
She steadied herself behind him, her hands curling over the cantle.
“Where are we?”
“On Circle R land.” He looked out over the rippling prairie, a mix of green and gold with patches of orange and red and yellow wildflowers sprinkled throughout. The tall grass made a swishing noise as their horses moved.
“All of this is yours?” Her breath tickled his nape and he caught a faint whiff of her scent.
He nodded.
“Have I ever been here before?” Her voice was small.
“No.”
“At least that’s one thing I’m not supposed to remember,” she muttered.
Bram didn’t speak. He focused on the rolling landscape in front of him, the clear sunny day, the lumbering gait of the horse following them. Anything except the feel of Deborah so close to him. So close that he could feel the occasional puff of her breath against his nape.
He clenched his jaw.
Behind him, she slid and slipped around a few times. Not once did she reach for him to steady herself. That shouldn’t have irritated him, but it did.
What did she think? That one touch from her would strip his control, have him shucking her out of her clothes?
Heat surged through him at that tempting thought and he bit his cheek. Hell.
Scout picked his way down the steep bank of a deep gully and Cosgrove’s mare gingerly followed behind. The gelding started up the opposite earth wall, lunging forward to gain ground.
Deborah shrieked, canting off to the side.
This time Bram managed to grab her arm. After pulling her up for the second time, he took her hand and curled it around his waist. “Leave it there.”
Neither spoke as they continued on.
Bram tried to ignore the feel of her soft curves against him. It didn’t help that from the corner of his eye he could see her skirts creep higher on her leg, exposing her drawers to the knee. All that did was stoke the memory of his hand under her skirts.
It was hot. He was hot. Because of her.
Feeling as if he were being choked, Bram ran a finger around the loose neck of his shirt. He wanted her until he ached with it. And each minute he spent with her felt as though his skin were being peeled off.
After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a third of that, they passed the Ross family cemetery, then reached the mouth of the creek that ran across Circle R land and onto Riley Holt’s pasture.
The now-dirt-filled creek that held painful memories for Bram.
He stiffened. With her arm around him, she had to feel it.
“Have I been here before?”
It wasn’t the warm wash of her breath against his neck that made Bram glance back. It was the wistfulness in her voice.
She was staring hard at the water that had been stirred a sandy-red by the dust storm. Sunlight glittered on the surface, dappled the ground through the leafy branches of an old pecan tree.
“Yes, you’ve been here. Do you remember?”
“No.” Frustration thickened her voice as her gaze met his. “Your reaction made me wonder.”
He didn’t tell her this was where she had informed him that she was leaving. And ripped out his heart.
Yes, she’d sworn she would return to him, but his ma had said the same and she had never come home. When he had finally tracked down Frannie Ross, she hadn’t even recognized him. Just as Deborah didn’t now.
That realization made Bram’s anger flare to life again.
“Did something bad happen here?” she asked tentatively.
Tightening his grip on the reins, he thought about not answering, but what did it matter? “Guess it depends on your point of view. This is where I proposed.”
She was silent for a long moment. So long that he thought maybe she hadn’t heard him. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” The memory still had the power to make him wince.
Bram fought the urge to knee Scout into a run, get away from Deborah as quickly as possible. But the last thing he needed was for her to be plastered to him, holding on for dear life.
Especially after being cooped up with her overnight and feeling her lithe curves against him all during the ride. She was too near, her eyes too soft with a vulnerability that made him want to take care of her.
He ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached, and he urged Scout forward.