Cassidy's Courtship - Cassidy's Courtship Part 11
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Cassidy's Courtship Part 11

"Thank you," she whispered, pressing her cheek against his.

"For what?"

"Being here."

"You're welcome." He made sure his voice was calm. More than his next breath, he needed her to know she could trust him, wanted to prove to her that he'd never use his strength or his anger against her. Carefully, he held her, making sure none of the rage he felt toward her father was transferred to her.

He brushed his cheek with hers, and in passing, she gave him a quick kiss. Her lips were inviting. Soft. Unable to resist, his lips returned to hers, not deepening the kiss, teaching both of them how sweet the mere touching of lip to lip could be. He sensed she wanted more. Hell, he wanted more. But for now ... for now, this was more important.

Take it slow, he cautioned himself. He'd be gentle, and he'd cherish her the way she deserved.

Two hours later, Brenna lay in bed without sleeping. Either Michael or Jane had put the photographs and papers from her mother on the dresser. Brenna's gaze drifted to them, unable to make out more than the rectangular shapes in the dark. She hated the feelings all this looking into the past had evoked.

The dark teardrop of a crystal hanging in the window was her only memento of those months she had lived with Nonna. Brenna remembered that her grandmother had hung it in the window of her room the night she had arrived at the farm.

"Something pretty to look at," Nonna had said. "Sometimes to find the good things in life, you just have to be standing in the right spot to see them. And sometimes, you're already standing in the right spot. You just have to pay attention."

Brenna was standing in the right spot to know just how special a man Cole Cassidy was. She felt an undeniable flicker of hope in her heart. He was perfect for her.

She was not perfect for him.

When he called the following morning to invite her to go sailing on Sunday, the truth that would push him out of her life remained stuck in her throat.

She knew she should turn him down, but she didn't.

Chapter 8.

"There are better places to sail," Cole said after they climbed into his Jeep, his sailboat in tow. "Next time we'll get started sooner, and we'll go to the mountains." He flashed her a smile, then squeezed her hand. "At Lake Dillon there are a dozen secluded coves to explore."

Brenna smiled at him. "That sounds nice."

Next time. However alluring that promise was, she didn't dare hope for a next time. If she had a lick of sense, she would make sure the man never asked her to go sailing or anywhere else after today. When she was with him, their worlds didn't seem so different, nor did the differences seem that important. She liked him, darn it, and she hadn't expected to. She certainly hadn't wanted to.

Who was she kidding? She loved being with him. Loved the way he looked at her-as though she was the only woman he had ever seen. Loved the way he listened to her-as though what she had to say was important. Not only had he listened to her, he had held her as though her pain hurt him, too. How could she resist that?

Lame excuse though she knew it was, she fell back on her sister-in-law's take on the situation. "Let it happen, Brenna," Jane had advised. "Don't be looking for trouble where there might be none."

During their short ride to the marina, his manner was more relaxed than she had ever seen it. He obviously loved sailing, revealing an endearingly boyish aspect to his personality.

When the boat was in the water, Cole pulled the cover off the sail, readying the boat. He moved with easy confidence, his smile telling her all she needed to know about how he felt.

Then he extended a hand to her, and murmured, "Welcome aboard," as she stepped in. She took the narrow seat in the bow, and they moved away from the shore, Cole maneuvering the craft with the smooth coordination of having done so hundreds of times.

Brenna trailed her hands in the water. Cool. Too cool for swimming, but not by much, she thought, enjoying the rush of exhilaration that came from the water's contrast to the warm sun.

Cole let out the sail, which instantly filled with wind. As soon as they had moved into less crowded water, he raised the sail further still, and they picked up speed at a rate that surprised Brenna. Fresh air, beautiful colors, penetrating sunshine. Life didn't get much better than this. She smiled and lifted her arms into the wind.

Cole grinned at her enjoyment and found himself making comparisons he'd promised he wouldn't. Susan had tolerated sailing, but she usually found a dozen other things to do when he asked her.

"I love this," Brenna said, lifting her face into the wind. "Does your boat have a name?"

"It doesn't meet the minimum size requirements to have a name," Cole said, his tone and expression deadpan.

"That's stupid. You mean some rule says you can't name-"

He laughed, and she looked at him.

"That wasn't nice, Cole." She flicked water at him. "So why doesn't it have a name?"

"I never thought of one that seemed quite right."

"No lost loves?"

"None that mattered."

"No favorite celebrities?"

"I can't see naming my spinnaker theMickey Mouse . AndHis Honorable Justice John Marshall seems ... ah ... a little pretentious." "Ah," she agreed. "I can see how that could be a problem. Who is John Marshall?" "He was the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court during the early 1800s." "One of your contemporaries, huh?" Cole aimed a casual swipe at her head, at the last moment smoothing his hand over her hair. "So what else, Counselor?" "John Marshall was the author ofThe Life of George Washington -all five volumes. And he established the right of the Supreme Court to have the final say about the constitutionality of any law."

Cole met her gaze. "Enough?"

"More than. Is there a quiz later?"

"Nah," he returned. "You'd ace any test I could think up."

Little did he know, Brenna thought, a sliver of fear pricking her, reminding her of the promise she'd made to herself. Tell him the truth or back off before you get hurt.

"Ready to hear what I know about Mickey Mouse?" Cole asked. This time, Brenna laughed, as much

from a release of her tension as from his earnest expression. "Yeah. I am."

Cole's face lit up, like a little boy trying to think of just the right thing to impress a teacher. "His dog's name is Pluto."

"I didn't know that."

"Honest."

"I'm surprised you have any room up there for any fun stuff," she said, gesturing toward his head, "after

hearing about John Marshall."

"Mygrandmom used to tell me, 'It's a funny thing about brains. They never seem to get full.'"

Brenna chuckled. "Mine is stuffed with all sorts of useless stuff."

"Baseball trivia."

"I'll have you know there's nothing trivial about baseball."

"Not compared to the junk in the tabloids-you know, the aliens having lunch with the First Lady and

the aunt's grandmother's daughter who bore her sister's twin sons."

Brenna laughed. "That's possible?"

He joined her laughter, then cupped her cheek with his palm, his own laughter fading.

"What?" she asked.

"It's the first time I've heard you laugh. Really laugh." He rubbed his thumb against her cheek. "I love it."

Brenna's throat grew dry. Her breath caught when his fingers caressed her skin as he pulled his hand away. One moment stretched into two, and never had she been more aware of another person.

"What other kind of trivia do you like?" he asked, his husky voice at odds with the let's-lighten-the-moment question.

"Baseball's about my favorite, but I like all natural history, too."

"A woman of many interests," Cole said. "My kind of lady."

She only wished she were.

Several strong gusts of wind pulled hard on the sails, and the craft lurched to one side. Cole's attention shifted to the boat, where he made a couple of quick adjustments, again bringing it under control. Brenna watched him, enjoying his confidence in himself and his ability to keep the boat on the course he wanted.

"I better pay attention to what I'm doing, or we could end up in the drink," he said.

Brenna smiled. "That's one way to impress a woman with your sailing prowess."

He chuckled. "Never mind that the woman in question is too damn distracting."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

As if by tacit agreement, they let the silence stretch between them-a comfortable, easy silence. Gradually her attention focused beyond Cole. Farther away she heard the call of other voices, the endless traffic moving across the dam, the distant roar of an airplane as it made its approach to Denver International Airport. She imagined being with Cole when the only sounds were those of the vessel gliding through the water, punctuated occasionally by the calls of birds soaring overhead.

She closed her eyes and lifted her face into the breeze, giving herself to the wind and the flying mist with an abandon she usually did not allow.

She loved the feeling of racing across the water. "Maybe you could teach me how to sail."

"Any time you want," he answered. "Ready about."

"Aye, aye, Captain," she said with a smile, ducking under the boom as Cole skillfully turned the sailboat back in the direction they had come. Bright sails from other boats dotted the lake, and the high-rise office buildings to the northwest stood in sharp relief. Cole never tired of the view, but just now he had something better to watch. Brenna.

Mahogany highlights glinted in her loose hair. Fine strands blew across her face in a continuing caress that made Cole wish he could touch her. Her legs seemed longer than they had in the cheerleader's uniform she wore at work. Her faded cutoffs, nearly white from countless washings, faithfully clung to every curve between her waist and thighs. An oversize pale blue cotton shirt was knotted at her waist over a darker blue tank top. The wind billowed through the fabric, hiding a lush body that he had undressed only in his dreams.

"Want to eat lunch yet?" he asked.

"I'll probably be starved later, but right now I don't want you to stop. This feels too good."

"Yeah," he agreed, his gaze again sliding over her. He imagined her coming to him as she was now-her

face lit with a smile of pure sensual enjoyment.

Brenna let her mind drift. She felt as though the wind had caught all her worries and blown them away. Through half-closed eyes, she watched Cole tack the craft across the lake with the complete ease of a man who had spent hundreds of hours sailing. He grinned when he caught her watching him.

She decided the way he looked today was her favorite. No unapproachable, stern lawyer. He wore tan cotton shorts and a loose red T-shirt. Even as she watched, he stripped away the shirt, revealing an expanse of tanned chest rippling with a hard washboard of muscle that made her breath catch. She looked away, licked her lips, then looked back. The swirls of hair that covered his chest were the same golden brown shade as his head, and every bit as inviting to touch. Then, she imagined him without even the shorts. Heat chased through her, and she tore her gaze away.

"Hungry yet?" he asked, steering the craft toward a secluded expanse of shoreline.

"God, yes," she murmured.

"Like Italian subs?"

"Love them," she replied.

"Gee, too bad I only brought one. I figured you were more the liverwurst type." His eyes lit with teasing.

"Fat chance," she answered.

Cole lowered the sail, and the boat slid soundlessly toward the shore. He threw a rope tied to the bow into the water, and eased himself out of the boat. Picking up the rope, he waded to shore, anchored it under a rock, and came back.

Brenna started to stand, then immediately sat back down when the boat rocked.