Page 30 of Grit
Melissa left the developed part of the ranch behind and followed an old trail that led along the rocky hills beside the creek that flowed through Allen Ranch. Come the rainy season, it would be a rushing stream, but this late in the summer it was bone dry, with nothing but stones and oak trees revealing its course.
She took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of sweet grass and wild roses. Birdsong filled the air as she rode. Two hawks circled the meadow to her right, hunting in the long grass.
Though it had been ranchland for fifty years, the edges of Allen Ranch had always been undeveloped. Gus Allen had liked it that way, liked his children and grandchildren to experience the unaltered wild of special places. Since he’d moved and no one had run cattle on the land, it had quickly returned to its natural state.
Melissa rode along the edges of the ranch, noting the frayed barbed wire fences and toppled fence posts. Whoever had bought the ranch wanted to sell it, but they didn’t seem keen on maintaining anything. It was a good thing no one but Melissa and a few other neighbors used this trail. It was becoming a hazard.
She rode for an hour, across the foothills that bordered Jordan Valley and along the dry creek. She hadn’t gone looking for Cary, but when she came across his quad bike, she wasn’t surprised. There was a stretch of tumbled granite at the end of Jordan Valley where he liked to climb.
She hadn’t really talked to him since their argument about Stu and Leigh, though she’d seen him in passing and he’d been up to the house to have lunch with her mom and Abby last Saturday when her brother was at the ranch.
He’d been avoiding her calls too. And though he couldn’t ignore her texts, his replies had been mostly monosyllabic.
She missed him, not that she’d ever tell him that. But she did.
Melissa rode a little farther and spotted him in the distance, clinging to the side of a giant black granite boulder called Halsey Rock. His hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and his shirt was stripped off. He wore nothing but olive-green pants and a bandana tied around his neck.
Melissa dismounted Moxie and tied the horse’s lead to a fallen sycamore near the creek. Then she walked over to a shaded patch near the boulders and sat near Cary’s pack, leaning her back against the cool granite that was still shaded by the hills. The sun was rising behind the mountains, casting long shadows on the foothills and the valley.
Melissa rested her head on the rock, her eyes trained on Cary as he moved.
With clothes on, Cary reminded her of a solid block. His shoulders were square and his chest was deep. He didn’t move with any particular grace when he walked through his orchards. He moved like a farmer. His arms seemed a little long for his body, and his legs were sturdy.
Stripped to the skin, clinging to the rocks and moving across the face of nearly black granite, he was art in motion. The definition of his back and shoulders was a thing of utter and complete beauty. His rolling muscles were decorated by brilliant ink. His broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist.
Cary’s fingers flexed and reached with grace and precision. His arms stretched wide as he found footholds in the tiniest crevices and seams.
She watched him in silence. Even the birds were observing. His legs hung only a few feet off the ground, but every movement was imbued with tension.
When he reached the far side of the granite face, he hopped off the rock and flexed his hands before he stretched his arms up and out.
Wooooow.
Cary turned, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, and froze when he spotted her.
Melissa raised her hand in a slight wave, but she couldn’t find it in herself to make a snarky remark or biting quip. The silence was too precious.
Cary walked toward her, wiping his hands on the bandana he’d taken from around his neck as he searched her face. His hair fell around his shoulders, which shone with sweat. A fine sheen of it covered him from forehead to waist, making his skin glow in the swiftly growing light.
Without saying a word, he knelt in front of her and nudged her knees apart. He braced his hands on the rock she leaned against and lowered his mouth to hers.
It was the third time they’d kissed, and surprise had turned to anticipation. His mouth was slow and luxurious, moving as smoothly as he’d traversed the boulders. His full lips covered hers, caressing each in turn. His tongue moved at the seam of her mouth, parting her lips as he explored her.
Cary tasted like tea and honey. Melissa put her hand on his cheek and enjoyed the rough texture of his stubble against her palm. The edge of his jaw rested in her hand as he angled his mouth to kiss her deeper.
She spread her jeans-clad legs and allowed him to press his body into hers. The rock was at her back, and his warm skin was against her breasts. Her hand relaxed, and she ran it from his shoulder all the way along his arm. He smelled like clean sweat and Cary, an indefinable blend of orange blossoms and earth.
She felt a sigh leave her throat; his mouth moved to her neck and he kissed her again. She closed her eyes when the sun hit her face, only to open them again so she could watch her fingers—silhouetted against the morning sun—trail over the burnished bronze skin of his tattooed shoulder.
Beautiful, beautiful man.
Her head fell back as Cary kissed slowly along her collarbone.
He still hadn’t said a word, and she was grateful.
Maybe this is the solution, Melissa. Neither of you talk. Just kissing and sex. No talking means no fighting.
She was near bursting when he drew back and placed one more soft kiss on her lips.
